


the sound of one hand clapping

by scarletbluebird



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, Female Protagonist, Genderfluid Character, Girl Power, Girl Spies, Just Girls Being BAMFs, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rule 63, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Stucky Big Bang 2016, World War Two, always a girl Bucky Barnes, always a girl Steve Rogers, bibliophile Bucky, so much research went into this, years: 1941-45
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 52,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletbluebird/pseuds/scarletbluebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The world isn’t a fair place, Buck. I think we both know this by now.”</p><p>Stevie is Bucky’s best friend; that’s the most important thing. Sure, she’s been in love with Buck since she was a kid, but she’s dealing with it the best that she can. And she always knew Buck would leave her behind – she just didn’t expect it would be the War that did the taking. But it can’t take Bucky forever, not if Stevie has anything to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so humbled to be a part of this stuckybb and to have two amazing artists [bisexualstevenrogers](http://bisexualstevenrogers.tumblr.com) and [outakurebecca](http://outakurebecca.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Check out bisexualstevenrogers' awesome [gif](http://bisexualstevenrogers.tumblr.com/post/149533198971/the-sound-of-one-hand-clapping-by-kausaustralis-a), [paper dolls](http://bisexualstevenrogers.tumblr.com/post/149533195376/this-is-the-first-of-three-pieces-i-did-for-the) and [kickass fanmix](http://bisexualstevenrogers.tumblr.com/post/149533202641/two-mixes-based-on-the-femmeslash-stucky-fic-the)

 

_my left hand will live longer than my right,_

_the rivers of my palms tell me so._

_never argue with rivers,_

_never expect your lives to finish at the same time._

_I think praying, I think clapping_

_is how hands mourn_

**April 2012,**

**New York City NY**

 

“This isn’t right,” Steve’s throat was so tight with rage she could barely speak.

 

Through the glass, her young face squinted up at her in black and white. Tongue sticking out at a jaunty angle. Skinny face. Decades old, the photograph was faded and creased. And _wrong._

 

“How could they do something like this?”

 

Natasha was a warm, quiet presence at her side. “You have to understand Stevie that these people are not your friends.”

 

 

 

 

 

**October 1943,**

**Somewhere over the Austrian Alps**

 

“Don’t wait for me - as soon as I jump, you turn this plane around and get the hell outta here!” Steve snapped out over her shoulder attempting to be heard over the roaring wind. The plane’s belly yawed open to a lurid scene of dark clouds, flashes of artillery and the sizzling whistle of heavy shells. Well, Hydra knew they were there that much was for sure. As her hair whipped around her face despite the helmet, she could pick up the acrid smell of metal and winter. Her breath was tight in her chest.

 

“You’re fucking insane!” Howard was shouting, hands bloodless around the yoke. Between him and Steve stood Peggy, legs braced and holding onto a strap of crash webbing that lined the interior of the plane. Her mouth was pinched, but she managed a steady nod when Steve glanced over.

 

Taking a last deep breath Steve let go and fell into the precipice, into hell. The icy wind screamed around her with an eerily human howl, biting into her cheeks mercilessly. She could see sparks of bright light through the thunderheads, gunfire flashing like lightning, but she couldn’t hear the cacophony of the bombs above the all-encompassing squall.

 

The cold took her mind strange places: back to the cold winter of 38’ and Bucky singing into her good ear, _j’attendrai le jour et la nuit._ The warmth of her hands cupping the clammy sick of Steve’s own and her curls haloed against the oil lamp, dark lipstick so akin to Peggy’s smeared across her mouth.

 

_Hold on for me,_ Steve thought, as if Bucky could hear her voice through the fire. _Just hold on Buck, I’m coming._

 

*

 

**PART I**

**Two Years Earlier,**

**Brooklyn NY**

 

 

Steve could hear the clip clip clip in the hallway long before the door slammed open and shut. She smiled to herself and pressed down with the stub of a charcoal pencil. Grand Central Terminal’s arches came into being on the paper, thick and dark. On their last free weekend, Bucky had insisted Steve see the way the sunlight filtered through the windows of the train terminal. _We may not be able to go anywhere like the bigwigs Stevie,_ she had said, pulling Steve down the street, _but we sure as hell can enjoy ourselves. ‘Sides there’s an art school in the East Wing that Barb told me about._

“What ya working on?” Bucky asked as she stepped into their little apartment and bent down to take her shoes off, groaning and rubbing the soles of her feet as she threw the heels aside.

 

“Drawing the station we went to last month.” Steve watched Bucky for a moment before biting her lip and refocusing on her work. The arch she’d been meticulously sketching was smeared out of proportion. Sighing, she gave it up as a bad job and closed the sketchbook.

 

“What not gonna show me?” Bucky teased, heading into the little nook that served as their ‘kitchen’. The apartment was puny, but it was theirs and as much as Steve loved Bucky’s family, she sometimes felt like she was going through a slow suffocation process in the Barnes’ home.

 

“I’ll show you when it’s done,” Steve promised. “Supper’s on the stovetop by the way. Loosely defined as vegetable soup.”

 

Bucky tentatively pulled the lid off the pot and sniffed. “I’d say. There’s maybe one potato in here.” She winked over at Steve who refrained from commenting that there in fact _had_ only been one potato she’d been able to scrape enough eyes off of so as to make edible. Buck would only force it down her throat if she knew.

 

“I’d like to see you do better.” She drawled instead, moving to put away her stack of papers as Bucky spooned out a bowl for herself.

 

“I’d love to be able to cook us a feast.” Bucky sat herself at in the chair opposite Steve. “Beyond Maman’s know how, I’ve been learning some tricks in Potter’s kitchen - well when that old witch isn’t busy hitting me with a broom.” She took a sip of the soup and Steve watched as she held her face very still for a moment before swallowing audibly.

 

“Sorry.” Steve grinned.

 

“Hmmmm,” Bucky shot her a narrow-eyed look before sighing and taking another sip. “Steve, did you put all our spices into this? Nutmeg? I didn’t even know we had that.”

 

“It was a water broth,” Steve laughed, spreading her hands out. “Believe me, it tasted worse before.”

 

“I believe you.” Bucky said, dryly. Although rumpled, she still managed to look lovely in her wrinkled scullery maid uniform with her hair falling out of its bun. “Hey, Ruthie says she can get us in for free at Number 7 next Thursday, if you’re interested.”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said slowly, wishing she had brought over her sketch folder to give her hands something to do. “I might have to work.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky sighed, putting down her spoon. It clanked against the bowl. “You use that excuse every time, but you and I both know better. Just once would you come with me? Once? It’ll be fun.”

 

Steve spent some long moments trying to avoid Bucky’s doe eyes that were pleading at her from across the table. It was a useless endeavor really, and she found herself unwittingly staring at the other girl while trying come up with a plausible excuse.

 

“I suppose…” She said slowly, tapping the table with the tips of her fingers. She stopped when she realized she was smearing charcoal on the old wood. “Although I don’t see what’s so great about public bathing. It sounds like a nightmare.” Especially to her, who felt like a skinny weed most of the time without adding nudity into the equation. Her ma had always said that real beauty lived on the inside; most days that didn’t make Steve feel any better.

 

Bucky’s smile lit up her face. “Swell.” After a moment she cleared her throat and picked up the spoon again.

 

“Who knows,” Steve shrugged. Her face felt hot. “It could be fun.” It definitely wouldn’t be.

 

Later on, Bucky carefully laid her uniform over the back of the kitchen chair and they both huddled together in their rickety old bed. Bucky liked to joke that they were two little sparrows living in very small, squeaky nest.

 

Steve stared into the darkness, listening to the sound of Bucky’s soft breaths. The room’s three-legged table was a hazy shadowed mountain covered in a mound of what Steve knew to be Bucky’s pulp mags. Argosy issues of _Synthetic Men from Mars_ , collected and coveted by the girl and therefore made precious to Steve. Though she couldn’t see them, Steve knew there was also a pile of worn books stacked up next to their little chest of drawers.

 

Here in the strange grey light her limbs felt heavy and lethargic like she was under a great ocean wave; warm as sweet syrup in the places her skin was touching the soft of Bucky’s body. She heard the faint sound of piano notes drifting up from somewhere beneath them.

 

“Potter don’t really hit you with a broom does she Buck?” Steve asked quietly into her pillow.

 

“Nah,” Bucky said sleepily after a moment. She rubbed her foot slowly against Steve’s leg as if to soothe her. “Knew it’d get a rise out of you s’all.”

 

*

 

Bucky worked as a scullery maid in a big house by Prospect Park. Big House family, as Steve had taken to calling them, held huge feasts and parties with fountains that poured champagne and live bands that blared out lively tunes like they’d walked out of the pages of the Great Gatsby.

 

At least the job paid and at Christmas Big House gave all the servants a whole hen to do with what they willed. Every year Bucky and Steve stretched the meat out, making bone soup with the remains. The wife was a socialite and Bucky sighed over the luxuriousness of her holiday gowns. _Steve_ she’d lay across their lumpy couch, _if I could just try on that purple silk I know I’d die happy._

Steve would buy Buck all the silk in the world just to keep that look of exhilaration on Bucky’s face when she got riled up about something. She’d go on about the big electric chandeliers in the halls of Big House. David Sarnoff, a big RCA exec, owned the home so they even had a television. Bucky would sometimes sneak into the parlor to look at it before she left for the day. _It’s better than the one from the world’s fair Stevie. Someday there’s gonna be talkies you can hold in your hands I betcha._

 

Steve knew Bucky was grateful for her job, despite the fact that Steve suspected she _was_ getting wacked with a broom by the staff cook, an old woman named Gertrude Potter who was apparently as crotchety as she was large. Steve imagined she must be very large.

 

Steve herself worked a number of odd jobs. She helped with Mrs. Pattenson’s dressmaking business a few blocks down when the older woman was swamped with orders. Steve’s ma, God rest her soul, had taught her how to sew when she was young; Steve supposed it was one of the only benefits to being a sickly bedridden child. Sometimes she covered their neighbor Martha’s sewing shifts at the Navy Yard but with the talk of war ever present and increasing daily, Martha wasn’t keen on skipping her shifts to make face with her fella as frequently as she used to be. On occasion, Steve was hired to repaint storefront windows, though those jobs were few and far between and often given to men when they popped up in the paper.

 

Of course Mr. Charleston was ever polite when he said he was just worried she’d fall off the ladder. The Jones’ who owned the pharmacy down the street said she was a liability when she stayed too late painting.

 

Steve watched the men walking down the street, the boys on the city trams with their dirty faces and their tired eyes. They all looked the same to her, and she felt the same inside.

 

When they were kids, she and Bucky had loved to play pretend. They had dressed in Bucky’s older brother Joshua’s trousers, rolling up the bottoms and stuffing their wayward hair into a cap. They’d roam the streets with their skinny ankles sticking out the bottom of the tucked cuffs as Steve and Bucky, playing stickball with the other boys when they felt like it. Puberty had proven to be a rude awakening, one that Steve still wasn’t sure she'd quite accepted.

 

Bucky liked to joke that Steve had chutzpah, the way she’d walk into a place like she owned it despite her five foot slim stature, fists clenched and shoulders back. Looking for conflict.

 

It wasn’t that Buck was afraid to fight; Steve had seen Bucky scuffle like the devil against the O’Malley brothers when they’d given Steve a hard time, had seen her right hook a guy right in the kisser who’d been spouting off against the Jews, had seen her knock a guy down who’d gotten too fresh outside the dance hall. No, it wasn’t that Bucky was afraid to use her fists - Steve suspected it might be the opposite.

 

Bucky liked to say Steve enjoyed getting punched but they both knew it was Buck who got a rush from throwing herself headfirst into a brawl. She said it was the Barnes way - they always did the best talking with their fists.

 

They were quite the pair the two of them; Bucky with her sweet looks, Steve with her scowl.

 

*

 

“Stevie hey, you going to meet Jem?” Barb Collins was a cheerful girl who stood a little taller than Steve. Privately Steve thought of her as a healthier, full-bodied version of herself. One that had hair that actually held a curl and full hips.

 

“Sure am Barb. Did she wrangle you into going too?” Together they crossed the busy street and headed towards the streetcar stop. A group of schoolboys passed them, tipping their caps.

 

Barb laughed. “Oh, I’ve been beggin’ Jem for ages to remind me the next time Ruthie was working at number 7. She said she’d let me know and she did, bless her. Jem’s such a doll that way. I heard they have a big pool you can swim in that’s heated. And scented soaps besides, can you imagine?”

 

“Sure can’t.” She’d forgotten how much Barb flapped her lips. At least it meant Steve didn’t have to desperately search for conversation topics.

 

It occurred to her abruptly half way through the ride, that she was very shortly going to be naked in front of a multitude of naked women including Bucky. Sure she’d seen Bucky naked before, but those occasions were rare and far in between - mostly consisted of Steve in a fever fugue with Bucky frantically trying to cool her down in their old bucket tub.

 

Steve squirmed in her seat and looked out the window, listening to Barb prattle on about the latest boy who was taking her dancing. She’d given up trying to curb her thoughts when it came to Bucky a long time ago, but she usually only let herself focus on them when she was alone.

 

Like how she knew Bucky’s skin was always so soft even in winter, and how flushed Buck turned when she was warm. How the curves of Bucky’s breasts were visible against the fabric of her starched uniform, how sweet they felt brushing her back in bed at night. Steve was an electric light in those moments, lit up from the inside. Warmth pooled in her belly just thinking about it.

 

“-you think? Stevie?” Barb poked her shoulder and Steve jerked to attention.

 

“Uh sorry, what?” Her face felt like it was on _fire_. Beside her, Barb was giving her a strange look.

 

“I was asking you if you thought there was a time limit on the swimming? I’m sure I’ll live in that pool until they kick me out.”

 

“You’d get sick of it sooner or later.” Steve said. “Er, but I’m sure you can stay in it as long as you want.”

 

“I hope so,” Barb seemed to think for a moment before she shrugged, smiled and continued to talk about- Joe was it? Steve nodded along, thoughts drifting.

 

Bucky was waiting for them outside the bathhouse, her purse tucked up under her arm. She must have changed out of her uniform after work because she was wearing a smart looking blue dress. She started waving at Steve as soon as she got out of the streetcar.

 

“Took ya long enough,” She hollered, as Steve and Barb strolled over. “Hey Barb how you doing? Still going with Joe, eh?”

 

“Still going.” Barb agreed, exchanging a hug.

 

“He seemed swell last I saw him. He’s so tall it must be fun,” Bucky grinned. Her lipstick was perfect like she’d just put some on, though Steve didn’t know why she would bother wearing make-up to a bath. She listened slightly put out, as Bucky and Barb gossiped intently. They made their way into the building, giggling about something. Steve trailed behind. Ruthie was just inside, chatting with a skinny fella who had thickly pomaded blond hair. Steve thought he must have dressed up to make eyes at Ruthie.

 

“Ruthie!” Barb called out, moving over and Bucky finally turned towards Steve with that little smile she wore when she had a secret to share.

 

“Did you get a look at the outside? I thought you’d like it.” She made a squiggly motion with her hand. “The fence thing on top I mean.”

 

“Balustrade,” Steve warmed, and the bitterness she felt dissipated like smoke from a blown out candle. “Yea it’s, it’s really something.” It had been impressive, and suddenly Steve couldn’t wait to get back home and try drawing it.

 

“I knew you’d take to it,” Bucky laughed. She put her arm around Steve and they turned to follow in Ruthie and Barb’s wake down the busy hall to the women’s baths. “Just wait until you see this pool Steve. It’s heated! Like something the Romans must have used.”

 

“Oh believe me, I heard. Extensively.” Steve said wryly.

 

“Barb’s been yapping your ear off huh?” Bucky grinned.

 

“You sure seemed to enjoy gossiping with her,” Steve shot back before she could curb herself.

 

Bucky didn’t seem bothered; she just shrugged in that careless, easygoing way she had about her. “Not much else to talk to her about really, but boys. Besides I wanted to give my best girl a breather.” She moved away to push open the door to the changing rooms.

 

Bucky had been calling Steve her best girl for years but it still struck something deep within her, like a bell ringing out across an empty courtyard. _Best girl_ , Steve thought. It meant nothing, she knew, but that didn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face, or the feeling of warmth flooding her chest. _Best girl-_

 

She followed Bucky.

 

*

Looking back with the clarity of hindsight, Steve knew she should have recognized the signs earlier.

 

Their mothers had met at the butcher’s. Bucky talking loudly, Steve peaking out from behind her mother’s skirt. Bucky had given Steve a handful of jellybeans with a wide grin. Steve could still remember how sticky the other girl’s fingers were, how blue her eyes had been and the feeling of utter elation that had buoyed up inside of her as “call me Buckee” had given a gap toothed smile. At six, Bucky had been her first true friend.

 

As it was, the epiphany didn’t hit until she was around twelve years old and Bucky was telling her about how she had let Seth Rothberg kiss her behind the newspaper stand.

 

“But you don’t even _like_ Seth Rothberg. You think he’s an entitled fathead,” Steve had responded hotly. They were both crammed onto Steve’s tiny bed and Bucky was leafing through one of her pulp mags, bare legs kicking the air behind her. Steve stared at the picture on the front of some caped superhero holding up a fist in victory. She remembered thinking she could deck him for looking so smug.

 

“Yah, well.” Bucky shrugged one shoulder and turned a page. “Oh hey, this is the best part here, where the girl uses her shoe to hit the fella-“

 

“I just don’t get it.” Steve consciously relaxed her hands, which she realized were clenched on the bedspread. She swiped at her bangs, irritated with herself.

 

Bucky sighed and closed the magazine. She had that tight-jawed look she wore when she was expecting an unpleasant confrontation. “It was just a kiss Steve,” she raised her eyebrow, taunting, “Don’t you know that _all_ the other girls are doing it.”

 

“Oh.” Steve said after a moment in a small, small voice. She sat upright, a tight feeling in her chest. She was very conscious of the way her arms were awkwardly pressed against her sides. _Oh_. Her mouth betrayed her, quivering.

 

“I…I didn’t mean-“ Bucky’s eyes had grown wide.

 

“No, no you did,” Steve hated that her voice wavered. She cleared her throat, swallowed. She wished she could shrink down small enough that she’d wink out of existence. Zap down to nothing like those people did in Buck’s comics when they were hit with the strange ray guns. Could anything hurt when you were the size of a speck of dust? Surely you would just drift away in the wind.

 

Was that how Bucky saw her? Really? Her face felt horribly hot. _Were_ all the girls doing it? Why didn’t Steve want to? What was wrong with her? All she wanted was to spend her days lazing around with Bucky and listen to the girl read aloud from her science fiction magazines and the pile of books she’d taken to borrowing from the public library. Buck was partial to science fiction novels and lyrical poetry. When had things gotten so hard? When had these strange boys weaseled their way into the picture?

 

There was a moment of heavy silence before Bucky, in a flurry of motion, surged up and cupped her hands around Steve’s like they were two very pale fragile boned birds.

 

“No I _didn’t_ mean it,” She stared into Steve’s eyes, intently. They were so close Steve could count the individual lashes on Bucky’s earnest eyes, could feel the other girl’s breath against her mouth as she exhaled shakily. “I didn’t mean it Steve. That was a horrible thing to say. I’m awfully, awfully ashamed of myself.” Her voice was hoarse and she had that sweet look she got when she was feeling truly sorry about something.

 

“Buck.”

 

“No Steve,” She ran an agitated hand through her dark hair before retaking Steve’s hand. “It’s. You’re right.” She bit her lip. “I- I don’t even like Seth, you’re right.”

 

Steve looked down. Bucky was rubbing the tip of one of her fingers over the shell of Steve’s smallest nail. It looked like it should tickle, but there was nothing but a warm pressure.

 

“So you did it because all the other girls are doing it? Should…should I be letting boys like Seth kiss me?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Bucky’s finger stopped moving. “No,” She whispered. “You’re different from those other girls Stevie. You’re smart. You wouldn’t let just any boy kiss you, you’re gonna wait for the right one,” Her voice trailed off, before coming back strangely remote for Bucky, “It’ll happen. It-” She cleared her throat, cutting herself off, and her finger started to move again.

 

“Oh.” There was a strange warmth in her stomach, like she’d just swallowed a lit ember. Or maybe a live bee was frantically buzzing around inside of her belly.

 

“I’m sorry, Steve. Truly. I – you know I like you better than any- any of those other girls.”

 

“I know.” And she did, really. Bucky was her best friend. Family.

 

“You’re my best gal-“

 

“I _know_ ,” Steve was starting to smile.

 

“Seth Rothberg is a lame turd.” Now Bucky was just baiting her.

 

“Shhh,” Steve giggled. “I can’t believe you let him kiss you.”

 

“It was pretty gross.” Bucky admitted, mouth curling up. “It was Robyn Lorne who dared me to let him. Learned my lesson on that one.”

 

Steve had never liked Robyn Lorne very much. She always looked at Steve like she was a particularly annoying bug she couldn’t be bothered with squashing.

 

“Good to know you’re taking advice from Robyn now.” She rolled her eyes and yelped when Bucky jabbed an elbow into her side.

 

“Oh shush you.” She grinned, and Steve was struck by the vibrant color of the other girl’s eyes, like the cornflowers her mother used to set out on the kitchen table during the summer months. She thought she could probably kiss Bucky better than that Seth turd. She was sure Bucky tasted like the candy she was always buying when she found spare pennies. Sweet.

 

_Oh_ she froze, the bee in her belly turning into a stone pit. Bucky had turned to flip through her comic, argument forgotten. Steve couldn’t look away from where she was biting her lip in concentration. _Oh, this is…_

As Bucky began reading aloud, Steve tried to redirect her thoughts but it was no use. Something had altered inside of her like a bright light sparking on. A self-realization as inevitable as the turning of the tide or the changing of the seasons. The first leaf had fallen, and a cascade of thoughts followed.

 

She’d always been aware of Bucky’s looks: how her dark hair held its curl so effortlessly, how her full mouth curved naturally into a smile. She’d attributed it to her artist’s eye but now…

 

“-and the man held the sword high above his head.” Bucky’s voice came to her, bright with excitement. Steve sat very still, letting her voice wash over her. This was all right, she thought eventually. She could deal with this.

 

*

 

By the time Steve had undressed, wrapped up in a towel and mentally chanted a pep talk - Bucky, Barb and Ruthie were already out in the pool area.

 

_You can do this,_ she told herself firmly, pushing open the door to the ladies pool. The air was almost steaming and there was a strong perfumed odor in the room. _Just don’t stare. Don’t stare Steve. Do. Not. Stare at her._

She glanced around as casually as she could, finally spotting Bucky’s curls amongst the gaggle of women swimming and laughing in the water. She was lounging at the far end, chatting about something with Ruthie and Barb, hair tied up with the red ribbon Steve had sewn for her birthday some years prior. When Steve had walked halfway across the room, feet slapping against the tile, Bucky turned and caught her eye.

 

“Stevie!” She waved her hand in the air, as if Steve could have somehow missed her in the crowd. Steve raised her own hand in return, smiling despite her nerves.

 

“Come on in, the water’s great! Our stuff is on the lounge behind you.” Bucky greeted her when she was within normal speaking range. She was grinning jauntily and Steve forced her eyes not to follow a drop of water trailing down Bucky’s throat.

 

“Lemme just put my towel down.” Steve shuffled over to the settee, where she could see a pile of towels already discarded. “Like a band aid,” She told herself briskly holding her breath. She whipped the towel off and threw it on the heap. Maybe a part of her was expecting to hear gasps of horror or jeers at her bony figure, but no one commented or even glanced her way as she turned around and walked as calmly as she could back to the pool. Bucky had drifted over to the steps, seemingly waiting for Steve to join her. Steve kept her eyes pointedly focused on Bucky’s face.

 

“Ah there you are,” Bucky glanced at her, face red from the heat of the pool. “Took you long enough.” She sank down to her chin in the water, eyes drifting halfway shut, as Steve tentatively made her way down the steps, sucking in her breath at the warmth.

 

“This _is_ nice.” She said in surprise, cupping some water and splashing her chest.

 

“Mmhmm lovely.” Bucky cleared her throat.  She looked at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “You better get in all the way Stevie, you don’t want to get sick.”

 

“It’s too hot in here to catch a chill,” Steve grumped, but she sank all the way into the water with a sigh and knotted her limp hair on top of her head. Bucky was right, it really was lovely. The other girl swam to her side and their shoulders brushed as they went to lean back against the tiled wall of the pool.

  
“I hate to say this,” Bucky said lowly, closing her eyes all the way. “But Barb may have had a point. I think I could live in this pool, hideous green tile and all.”

 

“You’d turn into a prune.” Despite her best efforts to avoid looking, Steve couldn’t help but notice the way Bucky’s breasts seemed to float, milky skin cresting the top of the water. Steve’s own were so small she could barely cup them in her hand.

 

Steve jerked her gaze away when Bucky laughed.

 

“I’d be a warm, shriveled prune then.” She smirked to herself before glancing over towards Steve from under her eyelashes. “Would you still be my friend if I was only a prune?”

 

“I don’t know. You know how much I hate prunes.” Steve wrinkled her nose.

 

“You!” Bucky slapped her shoulder, moving closer. “I see how it is, only after me for my rakish good looks.”

 

Steve huffed, rolling her eyes and praying the flush from the bath would hide the way her cheeks were reddening at Bucky’s proximity. “Can’t say as they’re particularly good looks.”

 

Steve could feel Bucky’s breath against her face; the tinniest brush of her breast against her arm was exhilarating. She turned towards Buck and their noses touched. “Y-you-“

 

“Hey you two!” Barb’s voice was like an electric shock and Steve lurched back over eagerly, slamming her shoulders against the tile, heart beating like a hummingbird. Bucky’s eyes weren’t even on her anymore; she was splashing Barb furiously and cackling at the girl’s shrieks of outrage.

 

Steve searched for something on Bucky’s face – was her mouth pinched a bit tight? Was she holding her shoulders stiffly? But there was nothing that Steve could discern. It was like that moment and the strange spider web of tension that had woven between them existed solely in Steve’s mind.

 

_Because it does_ , Steve scolded herself and took a deep breath. Her palms were tingling and there was a telltale pulse between her legs. Ruthie was joining in the splashing now on Barb’s side and Bucky was getting drenched, her hair escaping its ribbon to stick to her face and neck.

“Stevie!” She was gasping, flailing her arms to try and splash the others with her eyes clenched tightly closed against the onslaught of water. “Steve, come help me out!” In her exuberance she had completely forgotten about her modesty and was out of the water to her waist.

 

Steve, despairing at herself, went over to help Bucky splash the other girls.

 

*

Sooner rather than later, a harried looking woman came over and told them that if they couldn’t settle down then would they please leave immediately so the other patrons could enjoy their baths in peace. Ruthie had looked shame faced as it was her place of employment, and they all set about to the actual washing part of the bathing. Oohing and aahing over the various scented soaps available.

 

Then the four of them were out on the street giggling about their impromptu splash fight, hands over their mouths in glee - shame long forgotten. Bucky had thrown her arm around Steve when she had tried to make her excuses to slip away.

 

“No, no you have to at _least_ come out to get a sweet from Collins’.” Bucky cajoled. She’d reapplied her lipstick in the changing room after their swim and her lips looked like she’d bitten into an exotic fruit.

 

“Yah Stevie,” Barb was laughing, “Pa got a new shipment of taffy pops and he said I could take a couple for my friends.”

 

“See Stevie,” Bucky’s eyes were exaggeratingly wide, as she gently hip checked her. “Taffy pops. Your favorite.”

 

Steve rolled her eyes. Despite her persistent sweet tooth, Buck condemned the texture of taffy and loathed how the gooey candy got stuck between her teeth.

 

“They’re Bucky’s favorite actually,” Steve said, just to hear Bucky’s gasp of derision. “She adores the strawberry flavored ones.”

 

“Pa’s got some of those I’m sure Jem! You can take a fist full,” Barb promised, while Bucky leaned down and grumbled against Steve’s hair good naturedly,

 

“I’m gonna kill ya punk.”

 

Steve ducked her chin down and laughed.

 

*

 

On Friday Steve unexpectedly found herself walking home later in the evening than was her norm. She’d finally, finally gotten a painting commission at a small corner store a few blocks farther than she was used to walking. Bucky had offered to walk with her half way, until she had to branch off for work, but Steve’s appointment wasn’t until ten and she couldn’t bear to have Bucky late on account of her.

 

“I’ll be fine,” She had insisted. And the killer was, everything _had_ been fine. The older man who ran the grocery was perfectly nice: he’d given Steve the paint and brushes and left her to do her job with nothing but an easy warning about the wobbliness of the ladder. Steve had worked on the border of the store window throughout the day and had completed most of the outline of the name by the time evening hit and Mr. Holland had sent her on her way.

 

So she had been in a chipper mood by the time she was within a few blocks of the apartment, which of course meant she was daydreaming about one day owning her own studio - maybe above a little bakery Bucky ran - and not at all paying attention to her surroundings.

 

“Hey dollface, why you walking so fast?” She jumped at the nasally accent.

 

“I don’t want any trouble,” Steve said stiffly, picking up the pace. She cursed herself when two guys she hadn’t noticed before, peeled away from the shadows of a building.

 

“I’m sure you don’t baby doll,” One of them said, smirking. “But see us? We love trouble.”

 

When it became clear they had no intention of letting her pass, Steve came to a halt on the sidewalk. The two guys exchanged a glance before advancing towards her. It was almost funny, how completely normal they looked. She could have passed them on the sidewalk a thousand times and never looked twice.

 

She backed up against a set of trashcans, and calmly reached back to wrap her fingers around the metal handle of one of the lids.

 

“What you gonna do then,” the second guy laughed. “Fight us?”

 

“Count on it.” Steve snarled.

 

 

*

 

“There you are,” Bucky called out as Steve pushed open the front door. “I was beginning to thi- shit, Steve what happened?”

 

Steve let herself lean heavily against Bucky as the other girl led her into the kitchen. She kept her hand pressed against her bleeding nose. Bucky pressed her gently into a chair and ran over to the sink for a rag. On the table, Steve saw the tattered book Bucky had been leafing through, Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. The copy had belonged to a young Sarah, a lifetime ago.

 

“Stevie,” She came back and pulled Steve’s hand away from her face. “Holy hell that looks rough. You okay?” Her eyes were wide, her lips a thin white line.

 

“I’m fine Buck,” Steve tried to say, except it came out sounding strange because she couldn’t breathe out of her nose. “You should see the other guy.”

 

Bucky knelt on the floor beside her chair. Belatedly, Steve realized the other girl was shaking as she tried to gently wipe away the blood.

 

“Dammit Steve,” She threw the used rag into the sink. Then she cupped Steve’s bruised face and turned it. “Well I don’t think your nose is broken leastways as far as I can tell.” She said softly. “Did you get hurt anywhere else?”

 

Steve shook her head, and when Bucky still had that wary look on her face added, “No. I- the one tried to, but I kicked him right in between the legs and he went down. The other I hit on the head with a trash can lid coupla’ times.”

 

“Two of them? There- I can’t-“ Bucky looked like she was gearing up to explode. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. Her thumb moved very lightly against Steve’s cheek. After a moment, she opened her eyes and pulled back her hands. “Thank God you’re ok. Thank God. Just. I’m walking with you tomorrow-“

 

“Bucky-“

 

“Don’t you Bucky me,” Bucky took another breath, held up a finger. “I am walking with you Steve. End of.”

 

Steve opened her mouth to argue, but saw how pale Bucky was and the way she was gnawing at her lip. She gave in with a sigh, knowing when to pick her fights no matter what Buck liked to say. “Alright Buck,” She reached out to touch the other girl’s shoulder as if soothing a shying horse. “It’s alright.”

 

“It’s _not_ alright,” Bucky argued, but she allowed herself to be calmed, eventually moving to sit on the other rickety chair. “What kind of world do we live in that people do things like this to other people?” She voiced wearily. This was the other side of Bucky that Steve knew few people ever saw.

 

Bucky was a cheerful soul, generous and jubilant with her affections. But occasionally there was a darkness that rose within her, a sort of jaded weariness flickering in the back of her eyes. Sometimes she trembled with the weight of it. She tried to tuck it away inside, but Steve could always see when it came to Bucky. It made her mournful for the child that Bucky had been - scrapped knees and laughing in her brother’s trousers.

 

“The world isn’t a fair place,” Steve was tired. Her nose ached. “I think we both know that by now.” Unfair in so many ways. In another world Bucky wouldn’t be terrified to speak her mind, she could walk unafraid down the street in mens slacks if she wanted to and not turn her face from the suffragists when Steve knew she was desperate for involvement. In another world Steve would be able to afford art school, she wouldn’t be a sickly stick but tall and vibrant and strong, and the girl she was in love with would love her back. But it wasn’t another world they lived in – it was this one. And perhaps that was the most unfair thing of all.

 

*

 

Steve woke up the following Saturday to the sound of Bucky singing in their kitchen nook. _Le vent m'apporte des bruits lointains. Guettant ma porte, j'écoute en vain. Hélas, plus rien, plus rien ne vient_ her voice rang soft and sweet throughout the apartment like a gentle breeze. Steve lay in bed for a moment with her eyes closed and her legs hopelessly entangled in the sheets. She let herself enjoy the dulcet tone of Bucky’s voice and the feeling of sunlight warm against her eyelids. Eventually, she dragged herself out of bed and stumbled down their meager hall into the kitchen where Bucky was busy, humming over their old teapot.

 

“Well, look who’s finally up lazy bones,” She said when she caught sight of Steve yawning and rubbing her eyes. “Here, you want some tea? Your nose is looking horrible.” She didn’t wait for Steve to respond before pouring some hot water into a chipped cup.

 

“Thanks Buck.” Steve said, voice hoarse from sleep. Clumsily she took the used tea bag out of Bucky’s mug and put it into her own, yawning and shuffling to sit at the table. As she blew on the steeping tea and took a sip, she glanced up and caught Bucky gazing at her from the stove.

 

“Mmmpf?” She asked, through a mouthful.

 

“Nothing,” Bucky’s mouth curled and she turned briskly toward the stove, clapping her hands together. “Here, have some eggs too. Big House got a new crate of em’ in yesterday so Potter sent me home with the older ones.” She scooped a spoonful of eggs onto a plate, along with a chunk of dark bread that her mother had sent over with Becks the week before.

 

Mrs. Barnes had grown up in on the outskirts of Reims, France and even though she’d been living in New York for over 15 years, she still considered herself French. She’d passed on the language and the cooking expertise to Bucky who was always eager to learn. It was too bad, Steve thought as she dug into the eggs, that they rarely had enough food for Bucky to show off her culinary skills.

 

“I was thinking we could head out to the park a bit later, and you could work on your drawings while I finish my book.” Bucky sat down across from her and plucked out the droopy tea bag, plopping it back into her own cup. She was now rereading her battered copy of _Anne of Green Gables_ that Steve had given her some years before. Sometimes when Bucky was working late, Steve would page through it, running fingers over the soft worn edges with a smile.

 

“Yea that sounds real good Buck.”

 

*

“Listen to this,” Bucky began and Steve cut her off with a put upon sigh.

 

“Buuuck, I’m trying to draw you but that doesn’t work if you keep moving.” Truthfully, she didn’t mind the change in position as Bucky had tilted her head back leaving her throat endearingly bare, but it was the principle of the matter. If Bucky wanted to be her model then she had to stop squirming around so much.

 

“Bah,” Bucky stuck out her tongue at the sky before moving back into the previous position, her hand on her chin just so. “Is this right?”

 

“A little to the left,” Steve mumbled, moving her pencil to fill in more of Bucky’s curls. Bucky tilted her head accordingly. “Perfect. What were you going to say?”

But Bucky’s eyes were already moving over the page. “Mmm? Oh, nothing.” She said, her voice low and dreamy. She was lost to Steve, far away in the world of her book.

 

*

 

The molasses slow days of summer passed in a cloying haze of city smog and verdant tree lined avenues. Steve’s health was holding admirably well for the lack of hygienic conditions in their crowded tenement life. Though they kept their small apartment clean as a whistle, nothing could be done about the general crammed environment they lived in and the shared floor bathroom.

 

So when Steve inevitably caught a sniffle Bucky overreacted, sending her to bed for the following week. She picked up extra shifts at Big House, coming back in the grey hours of the morning shaky with exhaustion.

 

“You’re gonna kill yourself you keep this up Buck,” Steve coughed. She was sitting up in bed with the light on, trying to correct the shadows on a drawing of their fire escape and Bucky in silhouette standing like a sentinel over the dark city.

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Steve,” Bucky’s tired voice came from the kitchen. Steve could hear her tinkering with Sarah’s ancient metal teapot at the stovetop. Eventually, Bucky came into the bedroom holding her cup aloft. “I am invincible!”

 

Steve’s laugh was cut off by a few dry coughs. She waved Bucky away when the girl rushed forward.

 

“Here, drink this.”

 

“Buck that’s yours.” Steve sighed and gave in, taking the cup. Warm water with lemon, Bucky’s favorite. At Buck’s insistence, she sipped from the cup and leaned back against the meager mound of pillows. Bucky was looking down at the drawing, running her finger down the side of the page.

 

“This is beautiful,” She said quietly.

 

“You’re biased.” Steve grinned, watching as Bucky gently placed the folder on their little three-legged table next to the bed. It wobbled ominously.

 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Bucky trilled, crawling over Steve’s legs, careful not to upset the tea. It was a tight fit, the two of them in the bed with Steve sitting up. Their little bedroom window was cracked, and held open with an old tome, to allow some airflow through their muggy room. When the Murphy boys next door started arguing loudly, Bucky banged her fist against the wall, shouting “Whaddya doing over there, keep it down!” while winking over at Steve.

 

She eventually reached under the mattress and pulled out her book, flipping through until she rediscovered her place. Steve set the empty mug down and curled up on her side against the girl. She felt warm and safe like she was wrapped up inside of a cloud.

 

“Read to me?” Steve mumbled, as Bucky moved to put an arm around Steve’s bird bone shoulders.

 

“I’m near the end,” Bucky warned, voice wry. “It’ll be boring to you.”

 

“Good,” Steve cracked a yawn, “it’ll put me to sleep.”

 

Bucky snorted and there was a moment of silence before her voice came, soft as the lingering sun in the summertime: “Beyond lay the sea, misty and purple, with its haunting, unceasing murmur. The west was a glory of soft mingled hues, and the pond reflected them all in still softer shadings. The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart, and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it.

 

‘Dear old world,’ she murmured, ‘you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you.’

Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before the Blythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand.-”

 

Bucky’s voice followed Steve down as she was lulled into a heavy slumber.

 

In her dreams there was a wide river with a great birch tree growing tall against the rising current. Beneath its silver canopy of leaves stood Bucky in the tributary; laughing and peeling bark off like the rinds of a citrus fruit. “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” She cried, and as Steve reached to take the bark from her the water rose up around their legs. She looked down at the pieces of birch and saw that Bucky had written over and over into the skin, _nothing beside remains._

 

*

When Steve started to recover, they celebrated by going to see Gone with the Wind at the Paramount Theater. Bucky splurged and bought a bag of milk duds that they split between them.

 

“I want every dress Scarlett wears,” Bucky raved during intermission. “Can you imagine, going to all those parties?” She sighed, popping a milk dud into her mouth and sucking the chocolate off her finger.

 

“You wouldn’t be able to move in that get up,” Steve laughed, crossing her legs. “As soon as you realized the corset stopped you from eating as much as you wanted you’d be done with it.”

 

“Eh you’re probably right.” Bucky admitted, settling back down in her seat as the lights began to dim. “Bet you’d look cute in one of them dresses though.”

 

Steve squawked and was vehemently shushed by a girl in the next row. She could feel the seat shaking with Bucky’s suppressed laughter.

 

That night they spread out an old quilt along the roof. Steve lay back, staring up at the sky letting the warm breeze bathe over her. The moon was full and hanging low and every once and a while heat lightning would streak purple across the sky.

 

She could just make out Bucky’s silhouette by the edge of the roof, walking through the rows of clothing hanging out to dry. She was beautiful in her movement, and the soft sweeping of her hands across the fluttering white sheets seemed ethereal.

 

Probably pretending she’s at a debutant ball, Steve thought fondly as Bucky spun between the clotheslines, humming.

 

*

By the time September hit, the weather had cooled off dramatically. Usually, there were the remnants of sticky humidity chasing the last days of August, but this year the air was dry by the first day of autumn and Bucky was taking advantage of the perfect weather. Steve couldn’t begrudge the girl her fun, despite the pit of unhappiness that grew in her like a weed every time Bucky decided to go out dancing on her nights off.

 

If Steve was the dying fall, all boney hips and harvest straw hair, small then Bucky was the newly birthed spring, dewy skin and warm, warm eyes. Buck drew admirers like a flame drew a moth - unintentionally but with an unerring vengeance.

 

In the end, Steve knew she was just another creature drawn to Bucky’s light.

 

The other girl tried to talk her into going dancing, but Steve always found some excuse. Either her bones ached, her chest hurt or she was a worn out shoe with two left feet. Bucky never pushed, but she got that pinch to her red mouth that made Steve look away. She consoled herself in knowing Bucky didn’t need her there to have a good time.

 

While Bucky was out dancing, Steve would catch up on her sewing, draw or attempt to write in her journal, which was a gift from Bucky’s mother for Steve’s last birthday. So far she had been failing abysmally at keeping day-to-day entries. Simply nothing happened in her life that was worth documenting. In a desperate attempt to write anything, she had taken to scrawling out short poems, each more terrible than the next. Buck had shown interest in reading them when Steve had mentioned her hobby offhandedly, but that was _never_ going to happen as long as Steve lived and breathed.

 

After spending too many hours trying to write about the banality of her life and the clichéd woes that came with loving someone in vain, Steve growled with annoyance and closed her journal, slipping it between her underthings in the little chest of drawers her and Bucky shared. Despite Bucky’s curiosity, she knew the other girl would leave her journal well enough alone.

 

By the time she had tucked herself into bed, and turned off the little lamp that she’d moved atop the wobbly table, she knew it was getting on one o’clock in the morning. Steve wasn’t worried per se, because Bucky knew how to take care of herself, but she wished the other girl wanted to come home earlier.

 

She was just dozing off when the front door opened to Bucky’s quiet giggles. Steve imagined her stumbling out of her shoes and coat in their narrow hallway. Could hear her shuffled footsteps coming towards the bedroom ah, still in her stockings then.

 

“You have a good time?” Steve croaked, when the door creaked open and Bucky’s shadow passed through the doorway.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you.” Bucky said softly. Her speech was slurred just enough that Steve knew she’d probably let a couple of fellas buy her drinks.

 

“I was awake,” Steve cleared her throat. Keeping her breath even, she watched the shadow of Bucky move to the drawers, get undressed and pull on a nightgown. The curve of her body was alluring through the diaphanous material.

 

“Why’re you still up?” Bucky crawled onto the bed. “Mmmmm, Ruthie and I danced so much tonight I feel like my feet are about to fall right off.”

 

“Oh yea?” Steve moved over as Bucky plopped down and rubbed her face in the pillow. “You dance with anyone in particular?”

 

“Naaah,” Bucky drawled, moving to snuggle at Steve’s shoulder. “When are you gonna come out dancing with me Stevie? You never come dancing, never.” She asked morosely, voice now muffled against Steve’s neck.

 

“I’ll come next time.” Steve could smell the scent of sweet gardenias rising from Bucky’s hair. She inhaled deeply before sighing, “Hey, you smell real good.” It was Bucky’s fancy perfume she only wore sometimes when she went out. It meant she’d probably had a date tonight.

 

“Oooh, aren’t you a doll. Hmm...Ya promise to come wihme? Truly?” Bucky pressed closer, ever the affectionate drunk – cheery and pinked cheeked.

 

“I promise,” Steve choked out. She could hardly think with the sharp knowledge of Bucky’s breasts touching her side. She could even feel the other girl’s nipples still pebbled from being bared to the cold air in their bedroom. Was this some sort of divine punishment? She pressed her thighs together, biting down hard on her lip.

 

“Mmkay, good. “ Bucky sighed deeply, making her shiver. “Mm love you St…vmm.” She mumbled, voice fading into sleep.

 

“I…I love you too Buck.” She listened to Bucky’s breaths deepen and closed her own eyes. Her head felt like it was full of air. It meant nothing, she knew. It meant nothing. Bucky loved her like a sister sure - they’d said I love you plenty of times in their lives before. Still, she wished that they could both stay in this moment forever, cocooned under the covers like two halves of a clamshell buried safe in the sand.

 

*

 

Predictably, the next day Bucky awoke mid afternoon with her hair in a wild nest around her head. She hadn’t been completely drunk the night before, but it didn’t take much to give her a hangover and make her incommunicable for a better part of the next day. This was something that never ceased to be a source of amusement for Steve.

 

“Ya still alive?” She laughed, watching Bucky stumble into the kitchen near on one o’clock. Steve had sequestered herself on the couch in an attempt to write in her journal again. So far the only thing she had managed were a few lines of somewhat passable poetry and doodles of a cat she’d espied on the fire escape.

 

Bucky didn’t respond until after she’d set a pot of tea to steep. “Not sure this qualifies.” She grumbled softly, putting a hand to her head. “Don’t talk so loud.”

 

“Too much fun last night letting those fellas buy you drinks, eh?” Steve chortled at Bucky’s glare.

 

“Hardly.” The other girl said tersely, going to get herself a cup and wincing at the sound of water pouring into cheap ceramic. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” She stumbled over to the couch and practically collapsed against the pillows.

 

Steve stuttered, “I didn’t-“

 

“I know you didn’t. I’m just grumpy.” Bucky muttered before heaving a sigh and gingerly leaning her head back against the sofa. “I didn’t wanna be bothered last night so I got my own drinks. Well, Barb and Ruthie and I all went in for a few rounds.”

 

“Didn’t realize it was bothersome.” Steve said quietly.

 

“Hmmm,” was Bucky’s noncommittal response. After a moment she squinted at Steve. “Don’t think I forgot your promise cause I wasn’t that far gone.”

 

“Ah jeez, Buck.” Steve rolled her eyes, turning to an empty page in her notebook.

 

“Next week!” Bucky grimaced at her own enthusiasm. “Augh, make that two weeks.”

 

“Nuts.”

 

*

 

The night before Steve’s Big Dance as Bucky had dubbed it, the dark haired girl had insisted that they pin roll their hair. She’d stopped by Barb’s on her way home and borrowed some extra bobby pins, and had bustled through their apartment with such cheer that Steve didn’t have the heart to turn her down despite knowing her hair most likely would not hold the curls more than a few hours.

 

“Nah, you just never rolled em’ tight enough.” Bucky said through the pin in her mouth. She was standing in front of their foggy hall mirror and pinning her own hair. “I’ll do yours after I finish mine, you’ll see then.”

 

“No, _you’ll_ see.” Steve said just to be contrary and smirked at the look Bucky cast her over her shoulder.

 

Five minutes later, she had ordered Steve onto the couch and was standing behind her, sectioning off her hair and commanding Steve hand her pins every couple of minutes.

 

“Your hair’s just really fine that’s all,” she was saying, pressing a loop to Steve’s head. “You gotta make the rolls smaller than I do.”

 

Steve hummed, twiddling the pins between her fingers. She was rather enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s slim fingers running through her hair and sighed when Bucky gently brushed back Steve’s bangs into a pin and pulled away.

 

“There,” the other girl declared her finished with a clap of her hands. “Now we just gotta find you something to wear. What about that pretty blue dress you wore last Easter? That one is a dish.” She was walking back into their bedroom.

 

“Yea that could work.” Steve called back, unconcerned. It didn’t really matter what she wore as she was unlikely to be asked to dance either way. She listened to Bucky’s chatter from the bedroom and closed her eyes.

 

*

 

Surprisingly, by the next night Steve still had some curl left to her hair. Bucky had crowed in triumph as she repinned sections back and Steve begrudgingly admitted the outcome didn’t look half bad. She’d anticipated looking clownish with red lipstick on but the result was surprisingly handsome. She was still pathetically small and childlike, especially next to Bucky who looked like a Greek goddess in her white dress, but Steve felt improved upon from her normal self.

 

They met up with Barb and Ruthie at the street corner the dance hall was on and Steve gritted her teeth as the two girls gushed over her appearance. Inside the hall was packed, the band playing out a cheerful jig and people crowded together in groups talking loudly. Bucky found them a table tucked away from the dancing, collected their money – refusing Steve’s to her displeasure – and went to get them all a round of drinks.

 

Barb’s mouth moved but Steve couldn’t hear her above the ruckus. She turned her head, motioning again.

 

“So what do you think?” Barb asked loudly, into Steve’s good ear.

 

“It’s certainly busy in here,” Steve replied, looking out at the dancers. She watched Bucky get stopped on the way back from the bar by a tall, dark haired boy. “Who’s that?” She gestured with her chin.

 

“Ah, that’s Will,” Barb glanced over, a knowing look on her face. “He’s been after Jem for a while now, always askin’ her to dance. Sometimes she goes a round with him, but she told me she doesn’t like him like that. I personally don’t see why not. He’s handsome,” She shrugged, “and seems nice enough to me.”

 

“He’s got a great behind.” Ruthie chipped in, making Barb giggle and slap her arm.

 

Steve watched with a sick feeling in her gut as Bucky smirked up at Will, her red mouth lush and inviting. But whatever she said made the boy back off and suddenly Buck was back at the table handing out drinks.

 

“It’s some kind of liquor lemonade. Fizzy.” She said as Steve glanced down at her drink. “It’s not too sweet though, you’ll like it.” She took a sip of her own that looked to be the same thing.

 

“You gonna go dancing?” Steve tried the drink, hating herself for the question. Bucky was right, the lemon liquor mix was delicious, tart and refreshing. “He’s good looking.”

 

“You think?” Bucky had a strange look on her face, as she turned towards the dance floor, eyes moving mindlessly over the couples. A slow song was playing now, and some people were dancing lewdly close.

 

“Yup.” Steve popped the ‘p’ and took another long sip to shut her mouth.

 

“He was askin’ about you actually,” Bucky glanced over, the same look on her face as she tilted her head. “I could wave him over if ya want.”

 

“What?” Steve’s fingers tightened around her glass, flustered. “No, I-“

 

“Oh Steve you should!” Ruthie chimed in; abruptly departing from the conversation she’d been having with Barb. Suddenly, Steve had three girls bearing down on her, Barb and Ruthie in earnest, Bucky with that strangely intense look persisting on her face.

 

“No.” Steve said sharply, cutting off the two girls who looked like they were about to run over to Will and drag him to their table by force. “I don’t want to dance with him. No thank you.” She amended when she saw them give her wide-eyed looks. Bucky had since turned away and was looking back out over the dancers with her glass in her hand.

 

“No problem Stevie,” Barb said after a moment, placing her empty drink on the table. “If you wanna stay put for a bit that’s alright! I wanted to go find Joe anyway and he said he was bringing a friend tonight that Ruthie could dance with.” Steve nodded and the two blond girls were off giggling to each other as they made their way through the crowd.

 

“You okay Buck?” Steve asked after a minute passed with no words between her and Bucky.

 

“Ah, yea,” Bucky shook her head as if to jar herself from some daydream. Possibly the prior conversation had been boring her. “Sorry, was just thinking ‘bout something stupid.”

 

“What about?” Steve drained her cup.

 

“Nothin’.” Bucky shook her head again and smiled. It was like the sun after a storm. She pushed her own empty cup towards the center of the table. “Say, you wanna dance?”

 

“Didn’t we just go over this?” Steve asked dryly.

 

“I meant,” Bucky cut herself off, clearing her throat. “I mean with me you dope.”

 

“Oh.” _Yes._ Was Steve’s first thought. Her second, “Can we…?”

 

“Ya sure, I’ve danced with Ruthie plenty of times.” Well, Steve didn’t know what to think about _that_.

“Oh.” Bucky shot her an amused look, and Steve knew she must sound like a broken record.

 

“We don’t gotta,” Bucky shrugged.

 

“No, I. Yea Buck, I wanna dance.”

 

Bucky grinned, and she grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling her towards the floor. Whatever storm cloud had been present seemed to have passed over her mind and she was laughing gaily by the time they joined the dancing fray.

 

Bucky twirled Steve around before pulling her close. The smell of gardenias wafted over her.

 

“Do you want to lead, or should I?” Bucky teased, as a fast beating song started to play. Steve’s heart was in her throat. _This means nothing_ she told herself fiercely. Bucky was just trying to make her comfortable because she knew she was a weak dancer.

 

“I think you’d better,” She grinned, putting her hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Her dress was soft. Bucky placed her palm on Steve’s hip, took up her other hand in her own and, giving it a squeeze, set them spinning across the room. Laughter bubbled up in Steve’s chest.

 

 

*

 

Ruthie and Barb had headed out with their boys by the time Bucky and Steve retired from the floor. Every step sent a pulsing ache through her feet but she was so elated the pain felt like it came from somewhere far away. Bucky had danced with her almost the whole night, minus the three dances they had sat out to get another lemony drink. Even now, they were holding hands, fingers threaded together, as they walked through the chatting groups of people towards the door.

 

Steve had kept reminding herself, as Bucky spun her in close, as they giggled together contagiously, as the girl went to get her another drink, that this was what friends did for each other. Steve was like her sickly hermit sister who rarely left the house for a good time. Of course Bucky would be overly attentive and protective to a fault. The few boys that had come over to their table left shortly thereafter when Bucky gave arching replies to their invitations. Steve had kept her nose in her lemonade any time a boy made himself known.

 

As they stepped out into the cool autumn night, Steve watched Bucky tilt her head back and inhale the brisk air. She had a flush on her cheeks, and her hair around her temples was damp with sweat. She glanced over at Steve and they shared a mischievous grin.

 

“Not so bad was it?” Bucky quipped, as they turned to head back towards home. She swung their clasped hands between them.

 

“Nah Buck, it was fun.” Steve grinned, high on the rush of dancing close to a pretty girl all night. It wasn’t until they reached their building that she realized Buck had never let go of her hand.

 

*

She had almost convinced herself to speak, but by the time she’d come into the bedroom after washing up in the communal bath down the hall, Bucky was fast asleep, limbs splayed out in their cozy bed. Steve allowed herself a moment to watch her, cradled in the stillness of their bedroom with the tinny sound of a radio drifting over from the next apartment, then she shook her head and crawled in beside the other girl. Her heart rabbited in her chest at her own idiocy.

 

Steve knew she was more than likely building the situation up her head. She’d seen a couple of other girls dancing in pairs that night and no one had cast any odd looks. Probably, it was a normal thing – she simply didn’t go dancing often enough to have a reliable opinion. She felt like a dolt as she rolled over on her side to look at Bucky’s face again, slack with sleep. The girl’s mouth was still red despite the removed lipstick; eyelashes a dark fan against the cream of her cheek.

 

“Bad, bad poetry.” Steve whispered to herself, closing her eyes. The smell of gardenias lingered in the air.

 

The next day she thought about saying something, but Bucky had acted like her jovial self, like nothing had passed between them and so Steve tucked her feelings away inside to the dusty corners of mind where they wouldn’t be a bother to anyone. Bucky was her friend, her closest friend, and she was ever grateful to be in her life and to see her smile, and to watch her laugh.

 

*

In November, the leaves on the oaks and maple trees began to change colors, warming the world with deep oranges and vibrant reds. Mrs. Pattenson from down the street asked Steve to help her with a set of dresses some fancy woman by Prospect Park had commissioned. As it seemed to go with life, Steve found herself quite unexpectedly full of things to do following a long dull period of utter idleness. After a hectic meeting with Mrs. Pattenson that involved the promise of a somewhat hefty payment, Steve was hustling home with an armful of wrapped packages, huffing and puffing down the block.

 

When she finally made it up the seemingly endless levels of dim, cramped stairs - they were so poor they could only afford an apartment on the top floor and the hallways were practically airless - she was out of breath. She spent a minute breathing slowly past the tightness in her lungs before balancing the packages on one arm and wiggling her fingers into her satchel to find the keys.

 

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the apartment. _Tinsel town lighting_ Steve’s mom used to say. Everything was bathed in a warm liquid gold, invitingly soft and honey safe. Steve settled herself on Bucky’s side of the couch and opened the first brown paper package. She ran her gentle fingers over the dark blue silk, imagining for a moment. Then she sighed and reached for her old satchel, pulling out the dress patterns.

 

“How long have you been bent over like that Steve?” Bucky’s voice came from the doorway. Steve looked up, wincing as her neck creaked like an old piece of leather.

 

“Not long,” She lied, putting down her work and massaging her cramping fingers. The sun had long since sunk and Steve realized she had been working in almost complete darkness. “How was work?”

 

“The usual,” Bucky sighed, walking over and turning the lamp on. Her heels clicked on the warped wood floor. “Whatya doin workin’ in the dark like this Steve? You wanna go blind, you goose? Oh, this is lovely though.” She smiled down at her.

 

“Hopefully it’ll turn into a dress.” Steve spread out her work over her lap. It wasn’t close to finished yet, just the bare bones outline of an evening gown, all gossamer and silk. “Here, take a load off your feet before they fall off. You’re one to talk about working too hard.”  

 

Bucky sank like a stone next to her, leaning down to unbuckle her shoes. Steve watched as Buck rubbed her feet for a moment, closing her eyes. When Bucky reached up her thighs to unclip her stockings, Steve swallowed and carefully folded up the fabric, tucking it away.

 

“Did you get a look at the paper today?” Buck asked, leaning back against their old couch, stockings rolled up in her hand. “I reckon by this time next year, we’ll be at war.”

 

“Hmmm.” Steve didn’t like talking much about what was going on in Europe.

 

“Joshua will probably join up if that happens.” Bucky on the other hand talked about it with increasing regularity, like it was some scab she couldn’t help but pick at.

 

“Hope so, we should all do our part.” Steve said stiffly. Bucky gave her a knowing look.

 

“Not like you’d be useless,” She said, starting their cyclical conversation as predicted.

 

“That’s exactly what I’d be.” Steve grumped, standing abruptly and stretching her neck out. “I’m not even fit for factory work.” Angrily, she stomped over to their bedroom nook to put away her bag.

 

“You could make the cartoons,” Bucky hollered after her. “You know the war bond ones: ‘buy a bond, stand in line, stick it to the Nazis where the sun don’t shi-“

 

“Yea, yea.” Steve grumbled to herself listening to Bucky laugh at her from the couch. She knew Bucky saw the war as some far off dream, like a movie about another world or the setting in one of her revered books. For Bucky, Europe may as well have been the Land of Oz. Steve wished she could think about it that way, but reading the papers only gave her a sick feeling of inevitability. It was as though she was leaning over a deep precipice only to realize she’d forgotten to bring a climbing rope. And halfway down, there was Bucky moving on alone.

 

*

Like every year since her own Ma died, Steve spent Thanksgiving with the Barnes’. Since getting the job, Bucky always brought over the hen that was gifted from Big House and Buck’s mother always turned her nose up at it. It was rather like watching a skit.

 

“For the last time, we will not eat your hen Jacobina, go put it in the ice box,” Winifred sniffed over a mound of dough, same as every year. Bucky and Steve were pressed together in the cramped doorway that led up from the back stoop of the Barnes’ run down row house and into their homey kitchen.

 

Bucky rolled her eyes. “Maman, you say that every year-“

 

“So why do you still persist in bringing me this hen,” Winifred shook a flour-covered finger good-naturedly at the hen bundled in Bucky’s arms. “You two girls need all the meat you can scavenge away, you’re like two boney chickens yourself. Keep that bird between the two of you.”

 

Steve watched, smiling to herself behind her knitted scarf, as Bucky turned and stomped back outside, likely to put the hen in the icebox kept out back in the winter months.

 

“Come on inside Stevie you’re letting out all the warm air,” Mrs. Barnes said, smiling. “Let Jacobina kvetch, she takes great pleasure in it. Go try one of those tarts I just pulled out of the oven.”

 

Steve followed the instructions and pulled off her outerwear, smoothing out the delicate old grey knit dress she’d worn for the occasion. There was a tray of apple tarts on the ancient stovetop and she picked one up and took a bite. Warm spiced juice filled her mouth.

 

“Steveee, you’d better be leaving some of those for me,” Bucky joked as she came back inside, turning to knock her muddy boots against the outside stair. She pulled off her coat, exposing the pretty green dress she wore every year for Thanksgiving, and hustled over in her wool socks to grab one of the tarts from the pan.

 

They shared a grin as Joshua came into the kitchen to shoot the breeze with them. 28 years old, he’d just finished his first year of graduate school at Columbia. He was studying journalism, and was completely obsessed with dissecting the newest stories coming over from Europe. Steve listened for as long as she could stand, before excusing herself to the quiet of the living room.

 

Bucky’s little sister Rivka was visible through the front windows where she was out with the neighbors, raking leaves into big piles. Steve waved at her through the glass and the little girl jumped up and down, waving back. Steve watched as she fell backwards into a pile and flapped her arms in an attempt to make a leaf angel.

 

“How’d you push raking leaves on Becks?” Bucky was smirking over at Joshua when Steve looked over her shoulder at the two of them. The duo had been ushered out of the kitchen shortly after Steve had left and they were now sitting on the Barnes’ worn couch.

 

“She wanted to do it herself and forbade me from embarrassing her in public, as she so lovingly puts it.” Josh laughed, shaking his head. He was a tall lanky fellow, with hair just slightly lighter than Bucky’s that he liked to slick back with brylcreem.

 

“How nice of her.” Bucky drolled, voice so dry Steve choked on a laugh.

 

“Well she’s of that particular age,” Josh gave Bucky a knowing look. “You were the same way at 13 and don’t think otherwise. A horrible scrappy know it all. Stevie wasn’t bad though,” Josh winked at Steve.

 

“Aw, shucks. Although, comparing anyone to Bucky is unfair,” Steve grinned deviously. “After all, she’s a heathen.”

 

“Alright, alright. Jeez with friends like these,” Bucky griped, throwing one of Winifred’s little crochet pillows at Steve’s head. From there, things devolved very quickly into a fierce pillow fight, where Steve and Josh joined forces against Bucky as was their wont. The screeching only stopped when Mrs. Barnes stuck her head in from the kitchen and shook a wooden spoon at them, threatening starvation.

 

“Honestly,” Steve could hear her muttering to herself as she went back into the kitchen. “They’re like a pack of wild animals. What did I ever do to deserve this?” Bucky was muffling hysterical laughter behind her cupped hands, Josh had tears in his eyes from chuckling and Steve was grinning so hard her mouth hurt.

 

Soon after, Rivka came inside all windswept and cheerfully talking about the neighbor’s dog and how they ought to get one too so they could be best friends.

 

They all settled down for a competitive game of poker, using Mr. Barnes’ old deck of cards he’d left behind. Half way through the third hand, Bucky left to help her mother bake with a gentle brush of her fingers against Steve’s shoulder. Steve took a moment to watch the girl go, the shape of her sweet and soft as she walked down the warmly lit hall towards the kitchen. Then she turned back towards the cards.

 

*

Steve would always remember December of 1941 and how it had started out unseasonably warm. Bucky would head to work in the mornings without any jacket and in the evenings they left their window open and the sounds of the city at night swept through their bedroom. During the first few days of the month Steve stayed at home, finishing up one of the party dresses. She had managed to save some of the extra indigo silk and thought she’d be able to make something for Bucky for Christmas.

 

On the 7th, Bucky left their apartment before Steve had dragged herself out of bed. It was nearly ten before Steve hobbled over to the stove to make tea and gather her sewing things for the day. Her back was aching fiercely, like she had slept on a lumpy rock. Outside, she could hear the bustle of traffic far below and the wind that battered against their window. Her bad ear felt particularly clogged making the tick of her heart echo in her head in an annoying click.

 

She spent the day in a cloud of willed concentration, bent over her work. By the time Bucky had come clomping through the door, her fingers were numb and she took a moment to lean back against the couch and rub at her back.

 

“How was your day?” Steve asked. Buck had been unusually silent; she hadn’t even called out her usual hello. Maybe she’d had a bad day at work. Steve looked over and saw her sitting at their rickety kitchen table looking down at a newspaper she must have bought.

 

“Com’ere Stevie,” Bucky said, voice the kind of quiet that gave Steve a prickling sense of foreboding. Slowly, she put down her sewing and shuffled over to the table. Something inside Steve knew even before she read the huge black headline – they didn’t usually splurge for the paper after all.

 

“What does this mean?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Bucky was frowning down at the paper, eyes far away. “You were right,” She said softly. “It means we’re going to war.”

 

Steve went out the next day to walk Bucky to the streetcar at the corner. The other girl gave her a little wave as the tram pulled away and Steve watched it turn onto the next block before going over to the little boy who was selling the paper. She ducked under and awning to read the front page:

 

**1500 DEAD IN HAWAII, Congress Votes War on Japan; Manila Bases Bombed Again,** the New York World-Telegram read. Steve skimmed the paragraph before heaving a sigh and folding the paper under her arm. She trudged her way through the snow that had begun to fall in earnest during the previous night. It was as if winter had finally broken through with the war.

 

Steve tucked the newspaper away under her journal in their little bureau. She’d let Bucky read it when the other girl got home. Who knew, maybe someday this would be a memory they could look back on.

*

In the flood of patriotism that swept across the States in the wake of the tragedy of Pearl Harbor, Joshua joined the Army. He was sent down to New Jersey for training almost immediately. Bucky’s mother had held a feast on the night before his departure, bright eyed and smiling. They’d eaten beef stew and baked bread, stuffing themselves full of pumpkin pie. Bucky called Josh a Brylcreem Boy jokingly and it could have been a second thanksgiving if not for the cloud of forced cheer and sharp desperation that permeated the air.

 

After dinner, Winifred brought out her camera, a much prized possession and Steve managed to convince her to hand it over. The four Barnes’ sat on the couch grinning at her and she raised her hands to take a picture:

 

One of Josh with his cap tilted rakishly on his head, one of Winifred and Becks laughing at something to each other, one of Bucky gazing out the darkened window in thought. Then Winifred ran over to reclaim the camera, pushing Steve in the direction of Bucky.

 

“Let me get one of you two girls,” She said, making a shooing motion with her hand.

 

“Hey there Stevie,” Buck said as Steve bounced down next to her. “Almost forgot what you looked like you’ve been stuck behind that lens so long.”

 

“Such wit,” Steve wrinkled her nose, biting back a smile. “How do you do it?”

 

“Years of practice,” Bucky quipped, just as Winifred demanded the two of them turn towards her and ‘smile please girls, you’re killing me.’

 

Buck tilted her face towards Steve, eyes on her mother. They were sitting close enough that Bucky’s breath wisped across the skin of her cheek. “Whaddya say we stick our tongues out right before she takes it.” She whispered out the side of her mouth.

 

“Yes.” Steve laughed, shivering.

 

In the end, Winifred took three shots of them before she gave up despairing at Bucky’s inability to “smile like a normal human being” as she put it.

 

*

 

That night Buck and Steve were curled up together in Bucky’s childhood room, the walls a gentle mint green that kid Bucky had been in love with. Her old patchwork quilt was tucked around them and the full moon’s light shone through the big windows casting everything into an ethereal glow.

 

“I’m so proud of him,” Bucky’s voice was muffled from where she pressed her face into their shared pillow. “I'm furious, but I'm proud.”

 

Steve sighed. She had a pit in her stomach of something that felt uncomfortably close to envy. “I’m glad for him,” She said finally. “At least he can know he’s doing something.”

 

Bucky hrmmed into the pillow. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” She asked after a while, voice shaky.

 

There it was, the question Steve had been anticipating and dreading. She ran her hand soothingly down the other girl’s back. “I think,” She said hesitantly, “That if anyone could be alright, it’ll be Josh.” The words weren’t nearly as comforting as she wished them to be but Steve couldn’t bring herself to say anything else. This was war after all.

 

Steve could still remember the haggard look on her mother’s face when she talked about her Dad’s death in the field and the telegram she had kept reverently tucked between the pages of her Bible.

 

Bucky’s own father George had survived the Great War, but he’d come back changed, a shadow of the man he had been. He ended up leaving their family home one night some ten years ago and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Bucky’s mom got by in part with help from the temple she was a part of and by the printing shop she had inherited from George’s father.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, turning towards Steve. The moonlight fell across her splotchy face. “For not lying to me.”

 

Steve just kept running her hand up and down Bucky’s back. “I would never lie to you, Buck.” Her throat felt tight.

 

Later on that night Steve awoke, thirsty. She unwove herself from Bucky’s warm sleep heavy limbs and moved carefully down the old hallway. When she stumbled down to the kitchen she saw Mrs. Barnes leaning against the sink with her head down and her hands braced against the countertop. Steve stood frozen for a moment, watching as Winifred’s shoulders shook silently. Then she bit her lip and turned to tiptoe back upstairs, humbled.

 

*

 

It felt inevitable after that, the slow decay that had been their normal lives. Chanukah for the Barnes family that year was practically non-existent, except for the small loaf of challah Winifred had somehow managed to weave together and send over along with a tired looking Rivka.

 

Christmas, where Steve always gave Bucky a gift – much to the other girl’s delight - was a particularly humble affair. In past years in exchange for her present, Bucky would bake something for Steve - usually a meat pie or a sweet cake. This Christmas there was an abrupt shortage of baking goods, especially flour and sugar. Everyone knew where they were going, so people didn’t bother complaining about it - even Bucky who loved baking for the holidays.

 

“I’m sorry Steve,” She apologized as she carefully held Steve’s wrapped present between two hands. “I thought I’d be able to scrape together the amount of flour I needed but it just didn’t happen.” She sighed like it was somehow her fault the world was at war.

 

“Don’t worry about it Buck,” Steve leaned back against the couch, summoning up a grin. “Next year, eh?”

 

It took a minute, but finally a small smile cracked across the other girl’s face. “Sure Steve,” She promised. “Next year.”

 

“Now go on and open your present already before we get old.” Steve watched as Bucky tore through the old brown paper that had served as wrappings.

 

“Steve,” Buck put her hand to her mouth, her eyes went wide. “Where did you…”

 

“There was some left over from the dresses I made last month,” Steve shrugged, feeling strangely flushed. “Do you like it?”

 

“It’s beautiful.” Bucky’s voice was reverent as she pulled out the silk. The little slip that Steve had carefully pieced together from leftover bits of indigo silk fell like water over her hands.  “You shouldn’t have,” she looked up with big eyes. “It’s too fine for me.”

 

“Well I wasn’t gonna wear it,” Steve wrung her fingers, suddenly unsure. “If you don’t- I mean,”

 

“I love it Steve,” Buck said firmly, but her eyes remained wide as she held up the chemise. The gossamer material fluttered in the air. “I can’t believe you made this. And I didn’t even get to bake you anything for it.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Well, you always go on about how you wish you had something made out of real silk - and now you do. You can bake me something next time we have extra set aside.” Bucky nodded, running her fingers along the fine seams Steve had painstakingly harbored over for the past month. Steve didn’t dare ask Bucky to try it on, although she desperately wanted to, and the other girl didn’t offer. She supposed it was just as well.

 

“Well,” Bucky said after a moment, carefully setting the slip down beside her. “I do have this for you,” She pulled out a small brown bag, half folded and thin. “It’s nothing good,” She warned and hesitantly handed it over.

 

Steve turned the brown package over a few times in between her palms and gave it a little shake, just to see Bucky smile. When she opened it she saw that it was one of the pictures Winifred had taken: both of their tongues sticking out with glee, Bucky’s arm around her shoulders. Steve could imagine how red her face must have been – thank goodness for black and white.

 

*

Barb and her roommate Eliza threw a new years party every year and so 1942 was rung in at their place in a roar of wild festivity. Bucky and Steve huddled around the little living room radio listening to the New Year’s Eve songs and drinking copious amounts of Eliza’s new year punch special. Josh had been shipped off two weeks before, over to the European front. Steve hoped he was warm and safe wherever he found himself that night.

 

They all blew on their party horns when the clock struck midnight and everybody exchanged a flurry of cheek kisses. Bucky grinned from her spot next to Steve, well past drunk.

 

“Happy New Year!” people kept shouting loudly, in each other’s faces. Groups of them had started to dance. Steve’s ears were ringing and she had a tension headache building behind her eyes. Bucky kept throwing back cups of the red punch that Steve found left a sharp bitter after taste on the back of her tongue.

 

“Maybe you should slow down Buck,” She said, but knew her voice was swallowed up in the sounds of celebration. Bucky smiled at her with punch-stained lips and held out her cup towards Steve.

 

“Come on Stevie,” She yelled, as she was shoulder checked by a dancing couple. “It’s 1942, live a little!”

Steve took the cup, holding her breath through a few brave swallows. “Great!” She pressed the drink back into Bucky’s hand.

 

“To the future,” Bucky tilted her head back to finish it; Steve helpless to do anything else, followed the line of her throat with her eyes.

 

The walk back to their rear tenement entrance was hazy. Steve vaguely recollected a near collision with a newspaper stand, and the sputter of amusement from Bucky as they carefully maneuvered their way up the back steps and then up up up the twisting cramped stairwell to the top floor and their little door with its peeling paint. Steve had painstakingly repainted the door last spring, but the damp summer air had its cost.

 

Inside, Buck turned on their little radio and grabbed Steve’s hands. Steve pressed her face against Bucky’s shoulder to muffle her giggles as she attempted to waltz Buck down the narrow hall. Bucky’s drunken warbly rendition of auld lang syne was interrupted every time their elbows bumped against the walls but she didn’t stop belting it out, not even when one of the Murphy’s next door started banging on the adjacent wall so hard it knocked down one of Steve’s drawings. Steve was warm and happy, her headache a faint memory, and Bucky kept whispering, “that’s it, that’s it,” into her good ear in between laughter and song.

 

*

The next day was hell. They’d promised to have lunch at Winifred’s but they ended up being late due to both of them puking the entirety of their stomachs out in the hall bathroom. And then cleaning said bathroom through squinty, swollen eyes before the other families on the floor murdered them.

 

Winifred had given them a knowing look when they’d shown up and graciously let them go lay down while she finished making dinner.

 

“As God is my witness, I will never drink again,” Bucky whispered to the ceiling. They were smushed together on Bucky’s bed, lying as still as possible.

 

“Uggh. Death.” Steve could feel the blood pulsing in her temples. She was on the cusp of sleep when she felt Bucky roll over with a soft moan.

 

“Still,” Bucky mumbled, warm against her shoulder after a moment. “I got you to dance. Mmm second time too.”

 

“I suppose that’s true,” Steve whispered back.

 

“You dance swell Stevie,” Bucky’s voice faded as she fell asleep.

 

Steve’s skin felt electric were Bucky’s breath touched it. She was suddenly, wide-awake. “Thanks Buck,” She sighed softly.

 

*

 

Bucky spent the entirety of the train ride back into Brooklyn reading her latest book, Le Fantome l’Opera, which she had stolen off of her mother’s bookshelf. It was freezing in the train, so they were both bundled up like eskimos on a funny vacation. Steve amused herself by gazing out the window at the silently falling snow. Her hangover headache was all but gone now; satiated by a good meal and lots of water.

 

“Strange how snow seems so warm through a windowpane,” Steve voiced her thoughts. The grey city looked like it was being coated in a friendly white cloud made of goose down.

 

“Mmm, wish it was a warm blanket,” Bucky groused, red nose stuck in her book. She pressed closer to Steve until they were practically on top of each other. Steve huffed but didn’t move away.

 

When they finally reached their station, Steve had to nudge Bucky to get the other girl up. As they stepped out of the train they were greeted by a gust of icy wind coming through the station that caused them to shiver and tightly wrap their scarves around their necks.

 

“Nice of your Ma to knit these for me,” Steve said as she stuffed her mittened hands in her pockets. Bucky squinted at her over the scarf that covered half her face. Steve knew she was smiling. She hooked her arm around Steve’s own and they hustled down the handful of blocks to their tenement.

 

Inside, Bucky set about hastily making a fire, shivering lightly and humming to herself. Steve knew she was likely still daydreaming about her book, and she was glad for it. The nap must have done her good.

 

Steve turned on the radio, and they settled on the ratty couch, each at one end with their legs meeting in the middle. Bucky went back to her tome and Steve decided she’d try her hand at drawing the snowy scene she’d observed from the train.

 

When she looked up some long time later, toasty warm from the fire and Bucky’s legs against her own, she saw that Bucky had fallen asleep against her arm with her book open in her lap. When Steve went to carefully pull it away, she saw that Bucky’s slim fingers were splayed over, _Il avaít aimé un ange._

 

 

*

 

One weekend in January, Steve woke up in the early hours to find the bed empty of Bucky. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and wandered into the living room where Buck was sitting curled up on the couch her hand in a fist, up to her mouth. She was staring at their little wood-burning stove.

 

“What’s goin’ on Buck?” Steve asked, groggily. She felt a spike of fear. God, she hoped it wasn’t Joshua. The other girl just looked up at her and shook her head.

 

“Nothing Steve, just.” She sighed heavily. “If I tell you something, you promise not to be mad?”

 

And that was how Steve found out Bucky had gone and joined the Women’s Army Axillary Corp shortly after Christmastime.

 

“I didn’t think I’d hear back from them,” She said as Steve read and reread over the paper Bucky had unwrinkled from her fist. Her head was buzzing. “But- well, I guess they need all the help they can get.”

 

“England,” Steve said sharply. “Why are they sending you to England?“ She wanted to cast the paper into the fire and be done with it.

 

“Who knows?” Bucky shrugged. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, like she was expecting Steve to start yelling at any moment.

 

Steve sat, staring down at the orders. They were shipment documents, telling one Jocabina Buchanan Barnes to report for duty at Manhattan’s recruitment center the following week. From there she’d be taking a train up north for further training before being sent to England presumably to work in a manufacturing plant or as a typist. Bucky had learned to type extremely well in her mother’s store.

 

“Do you hate me? I know you must.” Bucky’s voice was small and when Steve looked up she saw the other girl had curled in on herself in the corner of the couch.

 

“No Buck,” Steve said quietly. “I could never hate you. I just…” She heaved a sigh, feeling like she had stones inside her chest. “I wish I could go with you is all.”

 

“Maybe you could,” Bucky said but her voice was doubtful. They both knew that Steve was likely too frail to be accepted by the WAAC no matter how desperate the war effort seemed to be. “Or you could work at the Navy Yard here, Martha may be able to get you something. Or maybe you could work as a letterist cause I’m sure Maman could use a hand in the shop. I could ask her for ya if you want, she’d love to have another hand in the store I’m sure.”

 

“Alright Buck,” Steve soothed, because the other girl was working herself up. She reached out and rubbed Bucky’s ankle moving her thumb slowly over soft skin. “I’ll figure something out.” She wasn’t gonna go beg Mrs. Barnes for a job though – oh jeez, how would Winifred react to Buck being sent overseas.

 

“You tell your Ma about this?” Steve asked, watching as Bucky grimaced and put her forehead against her hand.

 

“Yea,” She sighed. “That was an ordeal. I told her on New Years day while you and Becks were in the living room. She cried but I think she understands.” She must have seen the hurt look on Steve’s face because she hastened to say, “It’s not that I didn’t wanna tell you Stevie, I did so bad, but I just…I guess I didn’t think it was real and I didn’t want to worry you until it was a definite thing.”

 

“But it is,” Steve carefully put the paper down on the table. She felt like she had a lump of glass in her throat. “It is real. You have two weeks left before you’re leaving.” _Leaving me_ , she didn’t say.

 

Bucky gave her a brave grin; the lopsided one that Steve knew was mostly for show. “I guess we’ve got a lot of things to do before then huh?”

 

*

Bucky was set to leave the second week of February. She’d be gone for four months and then back briefly, before heading overseas. Suddenly all their plans had to be expedited. The first thing they did was take the early train to Coney island.

 

It was shut down for the winter season but the two of them trekked along the pier by Brighton beach trading sips of watery hot chocolate from a thermos. The ocean was a tempestuous steel grey, washing up great piles of foam and nests of kelp in the wake of every wave.

 

Steve watched Bucky venture daringly close to the surf, laughing as the other girl shrieked and jumped from the water, dark hair wild around her face. Her fingers ached for her sketchbook, hungering to capture. Steve took deep lungful’s of the salty air and pushed her tangled hair away from her face. How strange it was to see snow falling over sand. It felt like they were on an alien planet: the two of them and the roar of the tide.

 

She was finishing the last dregs of the cocoa when Bucky raced back up the beach, holding her findings between her hands. Her hair was windswept and crazy, her face flushed with exertion. _God she’s beautiful,_ Steve thought with a ferocity that almost frightened her.

 

“Look at this Steve,” Bucky was saying, “It’s a little mermaid’s purse!” She held up the small black dried out egg sac, giving it a light shake before placing it on Steve’s outstretched palm. Then she gleefully handed over a pretty orange clamshell and a handful of small white-spiraled shells. “Maybe you could make a necklace with these ones.”

 

“Thanks Buck,” Steve smiled, carefully placing the treasures in the bottom of her bag. They stood for a while, huddled together against the cold, looking out over the water. Bucky made up stories about the sea birds that were calling to each other and together they wove a tale about a fisherman who fell in love with a mermaid and eventually abandoned his boat to live with her in a coral kingdom under the water. When their feet went numb, they made their way companionably back towards the train station, a winter sunset lighting up the sky above.

 

*

Barb and Ruthie accompanied them to the Museum of Modern Art. Bucky trailed after Steve for hours in the museum, going through the pamphlet and humming as Steve talked about the paintings.

 

Steve knew Bucky preferred realism if anything but she listened to Steve go on, only occasionally poking fun at Steve’s preference for the ‘squiggle’ paintings.

 

Barb and Ruthie hadn’t even pretended to look at art: they’d met a couple of fellas who were selling pieces outside and had gone with them for a pop, promising to meet up with Steve and Bucky on the front steps in a few hours. When Bucky had asked Barb about Joe, the other girl had gotten an uncomfortable look on her face before brushing it off. Steve didn’t much care either way as long as she could spend time with Bucky.

 

“You’re better than all of these put together,” Bucky insisted as they wove their way through the gallery. She rolled her eyes at a particularly modern painting.

 

“Not even close,” Steve laughed, tilting her head back with amusement at the blatant favoritism. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

 

“Blah,” Bucky stuck her tongue out. “You’re such a punk. ‘Bucky you’re a bonehead when it comes to art, but I appreciate the compliment even though you have no idea what you’re saying.’” She did a horrible pitchy imitation of Steve’s voice that set the two girls into a fit of giggles and got them some dirty looks.

 

“I do not sound like that,” Steve gasped. “You’re a jerk!”

 

“Yea, yea tell me something I don’t know.” They exchanged grins.

 

Eventually they made their way back to the lobby and went to sit on a bench, waiting for Ruthie and Barb to show up.

 

Barb’s uncle was a politician, gone for most of the year down to his second residency in DC and leaving his New York home empty. Barb had suggested they stay at his place for the night and everyone readily agreed.

 

They split the fare on a cab - a first for Steve and Bucky. Bucky spent the jerky ride staring up with big eyes at the tall glass spires of the buildings. Steve spent it staring at Bucky.

 

All too soon they were falling out of the cab in front of a pretty townhome with ivy growing along its sills. Barb led the way up the iron wrought steps and into a foyer that left them gawking.

 

“It’s like a mini version of Big House,” Bucky’s voice was hushed. “Look at those carvings.” The ceiling panels were carved in ornate knots. Maids must have come through on occasion because there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen.

 

“I know it’s a little much,” Barb said from where she was standing midway up the stairwell. Her face was flushed and she seemed a little worn thin. “Uncle Geoff’s always been a little ostentatious.” She sighed like it couldn’t be helped and led the gaggle of girls upstairs.

 

They each had their own room – unheard of – containing a bed that was at least twice the size of Steve and Bucky’s at home. Later when they went back downstairs, all the girls ate cucumber sandwiches (“I feel so posh,” Bucky asided to Steve with her pinky out) and drank tea out of daintily painted cups (“You should paint our mugs,” Bucky suggested). After they had all trudged to bed in exhaustion, Bucky snuck into Steve’s room.

 

“I can’t believe people live like this,” She declared, as they splayed out on their backs next to each other. The bed was so big they weren’t even touching. “I mean, do you think this room has ever been slept in before tonight?”

 

“Hard to say,” Steve said wryly. “Isn’t Big House like this upstairs?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky sighed. “I mean I assume so. I’m not allowed on the upper on account of lack of proper attire.” Her tone said she’d been told this multiple times before.

 

Steve braced herself up on her elbow. “Lack of proper attire? What does that mean?”

 

Bucky scrunched up her face like she was thinking and then she laughed. “You know, I don’t rightly know. The housemaids wear the same thing as me minus the soot apron. I think Potter was just trying to stop my gabbing.” She started to mimic Potter’s grating voice making sweeping gestures with her hands while frowning outrageously, soon Steve was giggling into her pillow so hard she was tearing up.

 

“Yer’ a menace to society and if you don’t stop yapping right now I’ll give ya a whipping with my broom!” Bucky giggled.

 

“Stop, stop,” Steve laughed, punch drunk with it. “I can’t breathe.” She gasped into the pillowcase. Bucky ran a gentle hand down her back and they spent some minutes regaining their breath while staring up at the lavish ceiling. Barb had called this the ‘pink room’ and it wasn’t hard to see why: the walls were heavily papered in a pale rose damask with a Victorian print that hurt Steve’s eyes to look at for long.

 

“Say,” Bucky mused after a while. “Do you think they’d notice if we took this bedside table? It’s got four whole legs and I bet it doesn’t wobble at all. Seems worth the risk.”

 

It said a lot that Steve actually considered it for a second. Then she felt Bucky shaking with laughter next to her.

 

“Oh, you wretched thing,” She slapped at the other girl’s shoulder.

 

“You thought about it!” Bucky clapped her hands, “As I live and breathe Steve Rogers, you thought about stealing it! What would the Pope say? Oh- what would George Washington say? You best go chop that cherry tree down-”

 

“I hate you.” Steve was smiling so wide her face hurt. “Truly, I-“ She let out a shriek when Bucky hit her in the face with one of the down filled pillows. “Oh, it’s like that is it?” She pulled the pillow off. Bucky had moved to the other side of the bed and was clutching two more pillows in her hands.

 

“Oh, it’s like that.” She drawled, smirking.

 

Steve sat up. “Alright Miss Barnes, you asked for it!”

 

*

 

“Hey what was wrong with Barb today?” Buck asked later, after they’d called a truce, remade the bed and snuggled under the covers.

 

“Hmmm?” Steve mumbled sleepily.

 

“She acted strange when I asked her about Joe at the museum. I thought she was really gone on him but then she’s goin’ off with this new guy all of a sudden.”

 

Steve opened her eyes and stared up into the darkness. “I think,” She said slowly, because this seemed to really be bothering Bucky and Steve wasn’t sure why. “I mean…I heard from Ruthie that Joe was busted in a numbers racket but I dunno.”

 

“Oh jeez,” Bucky said softly. “Really?”

 

“Ya. At first I assumed it was just Ruthie flapping her gums yanno, like she does sometimes.”

 

“Hmmm,” She felt the bed move as Bucky rolled over. “you think it’s true?”

 

“Maybe,” Steve yawned. “Would explain why Barb’s so down.”

 

“Shame,” Buck agreed. “I’d have gotten in on it if I knew.”

 

“Buck!“

 

“What? We poor and downtrodden need all the help we can get.”

“You would have been arrested,” Steve let her foot brush against Bucky’s leg. “And then where would I be, hmm?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky teased. “I’d say taking up all the room on the bed, but you already do that so-”

 

“You should do a one woman show,” Steve quipped, “You’d sell out.” They both gave a tired laugh.

 

“So she’s probably still hung up on him then,” Bucky said abruptly, after silence had descended around them and Steve was nearly asleep. “Cause if she loved him…well, a person doesn’t get over love that fast…yanno? Even if they try.”

 

“Sure Buck.” Steve said softly.

 

 

*

 

The next morning, the girls went to see a play. Barb had surprised them that morning with the exclamation that she was treating them all to tickets and despite their protestations she was adamant.

 

“Look my Pa always takes us to see something when we come into Manhattan, and he wouldn’t hear otherwise. It’s tradition.” She held up a hand to stave off Steve’s protest. “You’re just gonna have to swallow it Stevie.”

 

Steve hurumphed, leaning back in her chair. When she glanced at Bucky she saw the other girl was biting back a smile. “Alright fine,” She groused. “But I’m buying the soda.”

 

“I’m buying the food!” Ruthie interjected, nearly knocking over her teacup in her haste to exclaim.

 

“Well what’s left for me to buy,” Bucky complained, good-naturedly.

 

“Oh, you always buy us drinks when we go out Jem,” Ruthie swatted at her with a napkin. “You’ll just have to suffer in silence.”

 

Bucky heaved a put upon sigh, picking up her coffee. “I guess if I have to, I have to.” She took a sip, winking at Steve over the rim of her cup.

 

 

*

They ended up seeing HMS Pinafore, a musical number that Steve found to be utterly absurd but that she enjoyed watching Bucky laugh at.

 

“And their costumes,” Ruthie gushed, afterwards. They were taking a stroll down town, stretching their legs in the cold air. “The uniforms!”

 

“I know,” Barb sighed, gleefully. “Perfect in every way.”

 

Throughout this Bucky was silent, although Steve knew she’d been enraptured by Josephine’s Victorian dress.

 

“Oh look over there, is that an art store?” Ruthie cut herself off to point across the street. “Stevie, we should pop in.”

 

“Aw that’s alright,” Steve protested, wanting to go inside desperately.

 

“No, no we insist,” Barb hooked her elbow and began towing her across the street. The other two girls followed behind.

 

“Well…alright,” Steve said, as they went through the door. They wandered around the store, separating naturally into pairs. Steve found herself squinting over at Bucky, who was seemingly preoccupied reading different paint labels.

 

“You been quiet,” She drawled, casually. With Bucky, it was best to ease into what ever was bothering her.

 

“Just thinkin’ is all,” Bucky picked up a little bottle. “this is a nice color, yea?”

“Sure,” Steve agreed. The bottle probably cost more than half their month’s rent. She watched as Bucky carefully placed it back, picked it up, placed it back. “You okay Buck? You ain't said much since we saw the play.”

 

Bucky shrugged. Steve waited as Bucky fiddled with the label. “Just didn’t much like it is all.”

 

“No? Not even the dresses?”

“Oh, I liked the dresses okay,” Buck shrugged again and put the paint back on the shelf. “Just nothin’ else.”

 

“Well you don’t got to like it,” Steve said gently. “Truth be told I thought it was all sorts of ridiculous.”

 

Bucky laughed looking amused despite herself, “No you didn’t, you were staring at the stage every time I looked over. I’d never seen your eyes so big.”

 

“Only big cause I was tryin’ desperately not to fall asleep,” Steve nudged her shoulder, grinning. Buck grinned back and seemed to shake off her weird mood.

 

“Sure,” Her smile softened to that familiar smirk. “Oh, did you see they have some charcoal pencils up front, they’re not much. Let’s get ya one.”

 

“Sure Buck,” Steve said, trailing after the other girl to the front of the store.

 

*

They popped into a stationary store to quench Ruthie and Barb’s thirst for pretty cards and then Steve spied a bookstore on the corner and dragged Bucky inside to peruse the aisles.

“Hell,” Bucky said dazed, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place.”

 

“The public library,” Steve said just to make Bucky elbow her.

 

“Always got an answer,” The dark hair girl rolled her eyes with a smile. They left Barb and Ruthie in the romance section and wandered over towards science fiction – Bucky’s favorite. Steve let her read out the titles, content to nod her head along as Bucky talked about space travel. She was convinced it would happen within their lifetime. Steve didn’t know much about space, but she did know how much she loved listening to Bucky talk about it.

*

 

The day before Bucky left, she told Steve she should cut up some of her old dresses to use. “I’m not gonna be able to wear em,” was her reasoning, “So you may as well turn them into something you could use for the winter.” Steve had felt it like a punch to the chest, and the ensuing argument was one of their loudest and worst to date.

 

“I don’t understand what the hell your problem is,” Bucky finally snapped out, loosing her temper and going to the door. “But I’m not gonna stand here for another minute and listen to you flap your lips about such nonsense.” Then she was gone, and Steve could hear her stomping down the hallway, the door to the stairwell slamming shut in her wake. From her stiff position on the sofa, Steve closed wet eyes and imagined Buck clomping down the stairs all righteous indignation fueling her.

 

“Don’t you know Buck,” Steve murmured to her in the grey hours of the next morning, when Bucky had finally come home still dressed in her starched uniform with darkness in her eyes. Steve was so glad she had decided to come back before her train left that evening, she could barely speak for gratefulness. “Don’t you know…I can’t go cutting your things up, I just can’t. Please don’t ask me to. Cause what if…” Her throat clicked when she swallowed but Bucky seemed to get the message, if the tightening of her arms around Steve was any indication.

 

“I’m coming back,” She whispered hoarsely, into Steve’s good ear. “You hear me Stevie? It’s only for a little while.” In the predawn light she looked unearthly, all inky hair and pale skin.

 

As if in a dream, Steve found herself reaching out and touching the other girl’s face. For a moment they both sat, unmoving but for Steve’s fingers running over the curve of Bucky’s cheek to the corner of her lush mouth. Then Bucky inhaled a sharp stutter of a breath and leaned forward, pressing her lips to Steve’s. It was soft, their kiss, and Bucky pulled away all too soon.

 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” She whispered. Her mouth was very red, her eyes were wide and scared. “I promised myself I'd never do that.”

 

“I’m glad you did.” Steve’s lips were buzzing. She leaned forward and breathed, “Buck-“ They were kissing again, Bucky making little hungry sounds against her mouth. Steve pulled her closer by her shoulders then went to push her down on the bed. Bucky’s mouth opened and _oh-_

 

Eventually, Bucky tilted her head back to gasp, “Steve, Stevie hold on a sec, lemme take this off so it don’t wrinkle.” Her hands were fluttering down Steve’s back and sides, like she wanted to sit up but didn’t want to move away. Steve sighed and sat back, watching Bucky shimmy out of her uniform. The other girl was blushing, but she caught Steve’s eye as she pulled off her shirt and smiled.

 

Steve stared as Buck leaned over again to kiss her. She felt like she had a fire burning underneath her skin. As Bucky sat in her lap, Steve reached up to cup the other girl’s heavy breasts through the familiar silky chemise.

 

“You-“ She gasped, gently squeezing. Bucky moaned softly, grinding her hips down against Steve’s own. “You’re so-“

 

“Yea,” Bucky shivered as Steve kissed down her neck and over to suck at a nipple, the silk turned dark with her spit. “Oh God Steve, please.”

 

They fell back onto the bed, Steve pressing Buck down against the mattress. Bucky let her pull the slip off her shoulders, let her put her wet mouth on those soft breasts she’d tried in vain not to fantasize about since she was 14 years old. They were perfect under her mouth, pale brown nipples coming to a taut point as Bucky gasped, back arching in a sharp curve.

 

Steve’s mind was hazy as she moved slow kisses down Bucky’s velvety belly and nuzzled open her legs. The insides of Bucky’s thighs were smooth and warm against her face, and in between…Steve moved to kiss her there too. God, Bucky tasted different than she had imagined; better somehow. Sweet and sharp and altogether lovely. She was wet; slick with arousal and smelled so fucking good Steve thought she’d go crazy with it.

 

Bucky’s hands immediately curled into Steve’s hair, her face tilting back as she cried out to the ceiling, legs hooking over Steve’s shoulders. Steve listened to her try to be quiet, relishing the silky thighs clenching around her ears. She moved one hand down to hold Bucky open on either side of her working mouth and pressed a thumb against her clit. Bucky wailed into the pillow, hips jerking up.

 

Steve coasted her other hand possessively along Bucky’s supple belly, then up to pinch gently at her tight nipples. God she was a sight to behold. She spared a brief wish for a third hand to press against the pulse in her own groin but contented herself with squirming against the mattress.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky was gasping now, little high-pitched breaths in her throat. “Steve, Steve fuck-“

 

Her fingers were like vices, her hips stuttering in shaky movements like she couldn’t help but hump against Steve’s face. She was so aroused she smeared wetness across Steve’s cheeks as Steve moved with her, humming and pushing deeper with her tongue in a relentless rhythm. She circled her fingers as the other girl cried out against her, gushing and sweet, muscles fluttering around Steve’s tongue. God it was so good, if this was a fever dream and Steve was dying, let her die like this.

 

Steve raised her heavy head eventually, licking cum off her lips and fingers. She was shaking with arousal herself, flushed electric with it. She looked up to where Bucky was splayed out on the sheets, chest heaving.

 

“Oh God,” Bucky panted, dark hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. She looked like a painting. After a moment of staring with glazed eyes, Bucky surged up to kiss her, delving her tongue in and in to taste. It was like something had awoken in her, some sleeping hunger that had her tearing off Steve’s dress to skim her hands over bare skin.

 

“You are so fucking pretty Stevie,” Bucky gasped into her mouth, “So pretty.”

 

Steve moaned as Bucky sat astride her again, both of them naked now and moving together, the sound of their sexes almost obscene in the otherwise silent apartment. Bucky bent her head to mouth at Steve’s little breasts.

 

“Bucky,” She cried out sharply, pressing her face to the girl’s dark curls to silence herself. “Oh Bucky.”

 

Later, after Bucky had followed the line of Steve’s body down like magnetic attraction compelled her and licked her open with a shy eagerness that had Steve clenching her teeth in ecstasy, the two girls lay pressed together spent and covered in a sheen of sweat.

 

Steve kept expecting to wake up at any moment. With every brush of Bucky’s hand down her side, she tried to convince herself this wasn’t all a dream. The sun had long since risen and their little bedroom was flooded with light. Bucky was humming quietly, and Steve felt her eyes grow heavy with contentment.

 

“Bucky,” she whispered from where she was tucked against the other girl’s neck. She willed time to stop passing.

 

“Shhh Stevie,” Buck’s voice was soft and hoarse. “Go to sleep, it’s alright.” She continued to hum what Steve’s drowsy mind vaguely recognized as an old French lullaby. She let Bucky’s dulcet voice lull her to sleep.

 

When she awoke later that evening, she knew before she even opened her eyes that the other girl was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://kausaustralis.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

                                   

 

 

 

 

**CHAPTER II**

**February 1942**

**Brooklyn, NY**

 

As impossible as it seemed, life went on in the absence of Bucky Barnes. Steve spent the day of Bucky’s departure in a haze of disbelief and crushing indignation. She hardly had any energy to leave the bed and forced herself to nibble on the heel of an old piece of bread she’d found in the kitchen. Every time she picked up a piece of charcoal she drew Bucky’s face. It was pathetic to the point of Steve resigning to give up drawing for a while.

 

The next day, she made herself get up, bathe and take the train over to Winifred’s, with her hands clenched in fists in her lap the whole way. A strange sort of calm suffused her body. Mrs. Barnes had gone out to the store, but Becks opened the door and invited her in for some tea.

 

“Are you feeling better?” She asked, as they sat at the Barnes’ cozy kitchen table. “Jemmy said yesterday you were under the weather and that’s why you weren’t there to see her off.”

Steve hid her face by looking down and blowing into her teacup. It gave her a moment to collect her thoughts, aflutter as they were.

 

“I didn’t sleep much the night before,” was all she could think of to say.

 

“Jem looked horrible too, all pasty like she was a ghost or something.” Rivka intoned with all the wisdom of a 13 year old. Then she abruptly set down her cup, mouth quivering. “I tried not to cry at the station, cause I knew that’d upset her…but I couldn’t stop myself. It’s silly cause it’s not like she’s even going overseas.”

 

“Oh, Becks.” Steve walked around the table to give the little girl a hug. Rivka felt small and fragile like a little hollow boned bird in Steve’s arms. She was an odd reflection of how Bucky had been at that age and with her fair-haired complexion, she almost seemed more like a Rogers than a Barnes. Although she did share Bucky’s high-spirited nature there was no denying that.

 

“What if they don’t come back?” Rivka’s voice wobbled as she pulled back and wiped her runny nose against her hand. “I keep thinking, what if they don’t come back?”

 

Steve petted her hair. “They will,” She promised. “Bucky will be back in three months, you’ll see.” Her heart hurt as she thought about it. It felt both impossibly far away and all too close. How would she ever be able to recover, how would she ever be able to pretend?

 

That night, as she walked through the front door of their little apartment she was hit with a wave of melancholy. Everything was too still, too quiet. The once friendly home seemed altogether foreboding and strange. Where was the bustle of footsteps in the next room? Where was the soft sound of a song sung under the breath? The perpetual playing piano from downstairs sounded like a lament.

 

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Steve leaned back against the door and rubbed her hand hard against her sternum, closing her eyes. It came to her then, the faint smell of gardenias.

 

“God,” she gasped, sinking to the floor. She didn’t know how long she sat like that, crumpled over herself like a dead leaf, but by the time she straightened her cramped body it was pitch black in the apartment.

 

*

 

Mrs. Pattenson, having been thrilled at Steve’s work with the dresses, hired her to work full time at the desk in the little shop. Since the war started, orders for all kinds of things had been pouring in. Mrs. Pattenson, or Georgia as she had commanded Steve to call her now, was flooded with so many patrons she didn’t know what to do with herself.

 

“Of course we will accept all the servicemen who come in for repairs,” She told Steve her first day on the job. “And I suppose any ambulance workers and factory workers too. But no party dresses or suits,” The woman sniffed as if what had once been her life’s blood was now beneath her. “How anybody could even think to throw those frivolous parties at a time like this is beyond me.” Steve had zoned her out after that statement, nodding occasionally when Georgia seemed to be trying to make a point.

 

The other woman scuttled away to help a dark haired English girl who came in to inquire about a uniform fitting. Steve was left to halfheartedly work through the pile of receipts collected from the previous day.

 

*

Eventually, she found the strength to write, _the night before she left we slept together_ in her journal. One small line seemingly innocuous in the middle of a page full of mundane scribbles about architecture and dress patterns.

 

When Steve unlocked their mailbox some three weeks later, she found a folded up letter from Bucky. Steve’s breath caught and she crushed the letter in her fist, making her way up the cramped stairs as fast as her weak body let her. She shoved open the door, and fell against it on the other side, sliding to the floor. As she caught her breath, her excitement churned in her belly with dread and she opened the letter with shaky hands.

 

_Feb 42_

_Steve,_

_Sorry I haven’t had a chance to write before now, things have been non stop since I got off the train. They put me in a room with three other gals: one from Texas, one from France and one from a state out west I can never remember the name of. Gaby, the French one, and I are getting on real good. I never realized how rusty my French was before now. Ma has been going easy on me. We start training tomorrow morning and I’m looking forward to it._

_How are things back home? Just to remind you, you can go to Ma’s anytime, she’d love to have you over._

_Steve I’m sorry for the way I left things between us. I shouldn’t have gone without speaking to you. I should never have done what I did in the first place. I hope you can forgive me. You’re my best friend._

Bucky had written the letter in her neatest penmanship, the kind she used when writing a thank you card to a distant relative. Steve read the last paragraph over and over again until her eyes blurred and she had to put her head down, gulping for air.

 

It was amazing she thought, how a handful of words had the power to cut her so deeply.

 

It took a few days and countless smudged drafts before Steve managed to scratch out a passably normal reply. She asked about the weather up north, she asked about Bucky’s roommates the other girl had mentioned briefly, she asked about the training, she penned _As for what happened, it’s okay Bucky I understand, we can put it behind us_ hating herself for her cowardice. She held her breath as she closed the letter with _love Steve_. It didn’t matter now, she figured. There was nothing left to hide.

 

 

*

 

Ruthie and Barb were a part of a pen pal group at their church that they urged Steve to join.

 

“Lots of soldiers don’t have anyone, and they always appreciate a letter from a lady,” Barb said perceptively, looping her arm around Steve’s own. They were in Mrs. Barnes store a few weeks post-Bucky, sorting through some of the pretty stationary.

 

“Oh look at this one!” Ruthie came over, holding up a delicate blue card.

 

“Where’d you find that?” Barb asked, following Ruthie back across the shop. Steve didn’t bother voicing her opinion that the men overseas would probably care less about the color of the paper over the fact that someone was bothering to write them.

 

“How’re you doing Stevie?” Winifred’s voice came soft from behind Steve’s shoulder.

 

Steve turned and summoned up a smile. “Oh, you know. I’m doing well. And you?”

 

Mrs. Barnes wrapped her arm around Steve and led her towards the front of the store. “As well as to be expected in these times,” She said with surprising cheer. “I got a letter from Jacobina earlier today and one from Joshua last week.”

 

“Oh?” Steve said, softly. She hadn’t gotten another letter from Buck since that first one, three weeks ago now. It was a month Bucky had been gone already.

 

Mrs. Barnes went around the cashbox table and pulled out a worn looking envelope. “Here you go dear,” She said with a knowing look that made Steve want to squirm.

 

“Oh, I don’t think Bucky would-“

 

“Nonsense.” Winifred kept waving the letter at Steve until she took it.

 

“Thank you,” She said quietly, moving to the side as Winifred smiled and turned to help a harried looking older gentleman check out.

 

She took a moment to turn the letter over in her hands before opening it and beginning to hesitantly read:

 

_Feb 1942_

_Maman,_

_Let me first say another thank you for knitting me those socks for the winter, as I’m sure without them my feet would have turned into icicles on the first day. The weather up here is so brutal it makes me long for a New York March, and that’s something I never thought I’d say! There must be six feet of snow on the ground. I hope you are doing well. How is the store? And Rivka, how is she doing in school? Here it’s all right, kind of like a strange summer camp I suppose. Except instead of summer it’s the doggone arctic._

_Anita (one of my roommates, remember?) is a big reader and I already have a growing list of books I have to catch up on when I get back home. We’ve got two sets of bunk beds in our room – I’m on the top of one, Gaby’s got the other top and Nita is on the bottom bunk under her. Since the bunk below me is free, we’ve converted it into a kind of closet where we lay out all of our things. Very sleep-away camp, like I said._

_The training itself is pretty unremarkable. I’m already well versed in typing so they’ve let me move on to other things. The food here is really rather good which is a pleasant surprise especially since Josh complained about it so much. I don’t think I’ve eaten so much fish in my life!_

_Ma, I need you to do me a favor please. I need you to keep an eye on Stevie for me. Make sure she’s eating enough and dressing right for the weather. I told her to cut up some of my old clothes if she needed to but I know she never will because she’s too stubborn for her own good sometimes. I’ll send along some money in my next letter for you and Rivka, but could you make sure some of it gets to Stevie? I just know she’d never take it from me._

_Thank you in advance, Ma. I gotta sign off now and go to the mess hall as they call it here. Send my love to Rivka and to Stevie too._

_Love and kisses,_

_Jem_

 

Steve reread the letter twice more before carefully folding it and tucking it back into its envelope. She cleared her throat and went to place the letter back on the table next to where Winifred was talking to another customer. Winifred glanced over and gave her a kindly nod, before turning back to answer the woman’s question. After a moment, Steve mumbled a farewell and went to go find Barb and Ruthie.  

 

As she spotted the two girls, arguing over a pile of cards, she realized her hands were shaking.

 

“-this one, don’t you think Stevie?” Ruthie was holding up a pretty hand painted card. “Are these violets?”

 

“Umm, maybe?” They were purple, which is about all Steve knew for sure about violets.

 

“They’re Jem’s favorite flower aren’t they? I remember she bought a handful at the market last year.” Barb pitched in, “you should send her this one Ruthie.”

 

“Peonies,” Steve cut in, clearing her throat when the two girls turned toward her. “Jem’s favorite flowers are pink peonies.” Her ma had carefully cultivated a peony in the kitchen and Bucky had fallen in love with it.

 

“Oh, but I thought she told Jimmy-”

 

“Stevie’d know better than Jimmy O’Brien anyway. Jem only went with him for two weeks before she got bored.” Ruthie cut Barb off, sighing down at the card.

 

“She’d still love it anyway Ruthie, I’m sure.” Steve assured, fiercely wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.

 

*

 

“I’m sorry Ma’am but we’re only accepting military orders now, on account of the fabric shortages.” Steve intoned, mildly peeved as the woman continued to huff at her. What didn’t she understand? “They use the silk for parachutes you see.”

 

“No, I do not see,” The woman snapped, putting her hands on her hips. Her face was red with anger.

 

Steve shrugged as politely as she could manage. “Sorry and have a nice day.” The woman huffed. “Can I help you?” Steve nodded at the next woman in line who had been watching the passing conversation with an air of amusement.

 

“Yes, I’m here to pick up a couple of uniforms I had ordered two weeks ago.” She had a sharp, no nonsense English accent. “Last name’s Carter.”

 

“Let me check in the back,” Steve took her receipt and headed into the holding room. They’d had a couple of uniform orders for the WAAC, which always sent a pang through her heart, but when Steve found Carter’s suits, they were for something else. British WAAC branch maybe? Was that a thing?

 

“Here they are ma’am,” Steve said, when she came back to the front desk and handed the stack of uniforms over. “That’ll be three dollars.”

 

“Alright,” Ms. Carter held out a five-dollar bill that was so crisp Steve wasn’t sure it had ever seen circulation.

 

“I didn’t realize we had British invading New York,” Steve joked, sorting through the drawer for some change.

 

“Well someone has to teach you Yanks how to fight,” Ms. Carter quipped, taking the change back from a gob smacked Steve. “Cheers.”

 

“Uh,” Steve scratched her head as the other woman made her way gracefully out the door. “You’re welcome?”

 

*

 

She couldn’t get over the quiet of the apartment. It was as though she were living with a ghost. Steve came home, day after day, kicked off her shoes, made tea and sat on the couch. She found herself inexplicably waiting sometimes for up to thirty minutes before she’d realize abruptly that she had no one to wait for. Then she’d scowl at herself and stomp to over to the radio, flipping it on.

 

*

 

 

 

Ms. Carter came in the next week to put in an order for more uniforms – male this time. She seemed bemused when she was told it would take two weeks to be complete.

 

“It’s just me and Georg- Mrs. Pattenson here,” Steve explained, nodding as another customer left the little store. “and we prefer quality over quickness, even in times like these.” She shuffled her feet, feeling awkward and clunky. Carter seemed a serious sort, if their last conversation was anything to go by.

 

“I see,” Carter said after a moment. She had a look of resignation on her face. “Well, I’ll be back next week in case they’re done early.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Steve said, knowing they wouldn’t be. Carter nodded briskly and turned to go. She was dressed in her fancy uniform today and Steve watched through the window as she shot a withering glare at a car that was barreling down the street before continuing on.

 

*

 

By the third time Carter came in, their banter morphed into an easy friendship. It turned out that Carter- call me Peggy, I insist – did have a sense of humor, albeit an even drier one than Steve possessed. They had hit it off after a grueling debate on women’s rights – or lack there of.

 

Peggy’s mother had been a nurse like Sarah. She’d fought in the last war and had received no recognition afterward for her acts of valor on the battlefield. She’d gone home at the end of it like millions of others, and spent weeks searching for her daughter who had been sent to a boarding house in the English countryside.

 

“She wasn’t even bothered by the lack of gratitude,” Peggy said as she helped Steve stack some empty crates in the back room, the fourth time she came by. “Somehow that was worse.”

 

“Do you expect it to be the same now, at the end of this one?” Steve asked, pausing to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She cleared her throat trying to rid herself of the dust that coated almost every surface in the cramped storage room.

 

“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine the end of something when you’re in the midst of it.” Peggy frowned. They finished stacking the crates in silence.

 

_what kind of world do we live in_ , Bucky’s voice came to her. She’d been gone for two months now but her voice resonated in Steve’s mind. She shook her head sharply to clear it and thanked Peggy as they walked back to the front of the store.

 

“My pleasure.” Peggy nodded before turning to go. Then she paused, smoothing out the front of her uniform. “Actually, I thought I might invite you to a meeting I’m going to on Friday. Seeing as you seem to share my opinions.”

 

“These ain’t suffrage meetings are they?” Steve asked, leaning against the counter. Bucky had always gotten that nervous look on her face when they ran into women handing out equality pamphlets. She’d hustle Steve passed them all _we ain’t lookin’ for no trouble here_ – but Steve was intrigued by the progressive movement.

 

“They are, though nothing so radical as rumored.” Peggy side eyed her before reaching into her purse and pulling out a notepad. “Here’s the address,” She scribbled on the piece of paper before tearing it off the pad and handing it over. “Do try to be discrete,” She smirked. “These things aren’t strictly legal you know.”

 

“Right.” Steve grinned. What the hell, live dangerously Bucky always said. “I’ll be there.”

 

*

_March 1942_

_Bucky,_

_Happy birthday! I sure hope it was swell. You’re getting old! I don’t suppose they gave you a break to go dancing but maybe they did. I hope so. I’ve enclosed a little present for you that I hope you will enjoy. Everyone’s doing their part, and we even have some British troops hanging around hereabouts. I’ve made so many different kinds of uniforms I don’t think my fingers will ever be the same! Still it’s good to be doing something. I wish I could do more._

_Hope to hear from you,_

_Steve_

 

*

 

The old library was a dingy building a few blocks from Mrs. Pattenson’s store. It had huge windows that had been nailed shut sometime during the Great War and nobody had bothered to reopen the place after. The vague memories of bright halls were dashed as soon as she pushed open the front door. This place had been left to ruin.

 

Shafts of light peaked through the shuttered windows, falling across the wide hallways. Piles of abandoned books had been left to rot, carts and carts full old yellowed newspapers were stacked along the walls. As Steve stepped inside, she could hear the far off sound of women’s laughter coming from across the foyer.

 

She stuck her head into what had been the admin office in another life, and saw a gaggle of women talking amongst themselves and Peggy in the corner deep in conversation with a strawberry blond. The room had been cleaned and spruced up; there was even a little potted fig plant in one corner as if the decorator had given a last ditch effort at adding some pizazz to the peeling taupe wallpaper.

 

After a moment of standing awkwardly in the doorway, wavering and trying not to clear her itchy throat too loudly, Peggy glanced up and caught her eye.

 

“Stevie you made it,” She called, although the tone of her voice implied she had been expecting nothing less. “Do come in, I’d like you to meet everyone.”

 

There passed a whirlwind of minutes where Steve was bombarded with greetings, from a Tabby, another Margaret, a Marilia, Cathy, Joanna, Pearl. Faces blurred together until Steve felt slightly overwhelmed. By the end of it, the only names she knew for sure was Peggy and the girl she’d been talking to, a woman by the name of Angie. That was mostly because Angie had a grin that reminded her of Bucky and she’d immediately been drawn into a lively conversation about art.

 

“English here says you’re an artiste,” She said with a glance towards Peggy. “I’m an aspiring actress myself.”

 

“Oh, well I’m nothing great,” Steve shifted, blushing.

  
“That’s what all the greats say I expect. We artists gotta stick together.” Angie said, winking. She motioned towards Peggy with her chin, who had excused herself to grab Steve a cup of tea from the canister at the other side of the room. “She tells me you work at the dressmakers and that’s how you two met?”

 

“Hm, yea she’s been putting orders for uniforms these past few weeks.” Steve hesitated for a moment, unsure. The longer she knew Peggy, the more convinced she became that there was more to her than met the eye, especially regarding her occupation.

 

Angie, as if sensing her uncertainty, laughed. “Oh don’t worry about it Stevie,” She said, patting Steve’s shoulder. “English is my roommate.”

 

“Scheming already are we?” Peggy was back, somehow balancing three cups of steaming tea between her hands.

 

“Always,” Angie quipped, taking one of the cups. “Thanks much.”

 

“Thanks Peggy,” Steve took the other cup. It was piping hot, and burnt her tongue when she dared a sip. She wondered how Angie could handle gulping it down the way she was.

 

“My pleasure,” Peggy said to the both of them before turning to the room at large. “Alright ladies, shall we get started?”

 

 

*

“And then I said to him, excuse me sir, but you’re in the wrong establishment altogether, please see yourself to the door.”

 

“You did not!” Barb gasped. She and Ruthie were staring in complete captivation at Angie.

 

“I most definitely did.” Angie quipped, sipping her soda.

 

“And he walked out with his tail between his legs. I was tempted to kick him as he went,” Peggy cut in, from her seat next to Steve.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad we ran into you Stevie,” Ruthie gushed, sipping her fizzy drink. “You gals are delightful.”

 

“Aw shucks,” Angie winked at Steve. “We’re alright I suppose.”

 

“I suppose,” Steve agreed, laughing. Angie had that way about her; you couldn’t help but be happy.

 

“Say, do you girls like dancing,” Barb asked. “I know the halls are sparse of fellas these days, but it’s still a swell time and Ruthie and I can hold our own.”

 

“We never found the lack of fellas to be a problem,” Peggy said in a way that made Steve look up in surprise.

 

“Yes, English and I do a mean jitter bug,” Angie put in, grinning. “Let’s go to the club down the street after this. What do you say Stevie?”

 

“I say we’re an odd party,” Steve said, with forced cheer. She hated dancing on the best of nights.

 

“Oh pssh,” Barb waved her hand. “it’s so busy on Friday’s, everyone will be clustered together on the floor.”

 

“If only Jem were here then we’d be an even number,” Ruthie put in.

 

Steve pushed her float away, appetite lost. Peggy nudged Steve’s shoulder with her own.

 

“I think dancing is a marvelous idea.”

 

*

 

The dance hall was packed to the gills, the band roaring, scattered laughter rang through the room. Steve sat at a table and watched Peggy and Angie spin each other across the room, a heavy feeling in her chest. Ruthie and Barb were nearby; taking turns leading as each new song began. They’d dragged Steve out with them for a few dances before she begged for freedom. Now she had taken refuge at a back table, nursing on a gin fizz between her hands.

 

She tapped her foot along with the band, waving at Angie as she passed by with Peggy. Peggy was practically glowing, her normal carefully controlled countenance was relaxed and cheerful. In the glowing lights of the dancehall, with her lipstick and dark curls she reminded Steve painfully of Bucky. Steve looked down at her drink and sighed.

 

 

*

_April 1942_

_Bucky,_

_It’s been almost two months now since I’ve gotten a letter from you. I hear from your ma you’re doing just fine and that you’re working non stop, but I’d sure like to hear about it from you. ~~I thought.~~ I’ve been keeping my health and putting in lots of hours at the store. Did you like the bar of chocolate? My friend Peggy, one of the British folks I mentioned before, helped me get it in exchange for me moving her uniform orders ahead of the line. Maybe that ain’t exactly honest, but I like to think it was for a good cause either way. _

_Your pal,_

_Steve_

 

*

 

“Stevie!” Rivka yanked open the door and threw herself at Steve.

 

“Whoa,” Steve barked out a laugh, rocking back on her heels. “Hey yourself Becks.”

 

“It’s so good to see you, it feels like it’s been forever,” Becks helped Steve with her coat. Running around Steve to help unwind her scarf.

 

“I was here just last week,” Steve said, dryly.

 

“Is that Stevie?” Winifred’s voice called from the kitchen. “Rivka, tell her to come into the living room!”

 

“Alright Maman,” Rivka shouted back, rolling her eyes. “What did she think I was going to do, leave you in front hall?” She asided grumpily to Steve.

 

Steve hummed noncommittally as she followed the younger girl into the living room. They settled on the couch.

 

“So how are you doing Becks?” Steve asked, rubbing her hands together to warm them.

 

“Oh, I’m alright I suppose,” Becks threw herself down next to Steve, crossing her legs and tucking her dress under her knees. Despite her claim, she looked a little glum.

 

“That’s good,” Steve said slowly. “I’m glad.”

 

“Yea.” Becks huffed a sigh. “I…well…” She glanced at Steve, then away. Steve waited patiently. Rivka was a lot like Bucky that way; she’d get to it in her own time. “Well…there’s actually something…well, some _one_.”

 

_Ah,_ Steve thought. “A fella?” She asked, tentatively.

 

Becks went a vivid red, “Yes,” She whispered morosely, picking at a pillowcase.

 

“Well that’s swell,” Steve smiled. “You’re around the right age for it.” God, she was horrible at this.

 

Becks pursed her lips and then, “I don’t think he…I don’t think he feels the same way.”

 

“Oh Becks,” Steve sighed. Gingerly, she wrapped her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “I’m sure that’s not true. Why wouldn’t he like you, you’re a wonderful gal: smart, sweet and very pretty.”

 

Becks sniffed, turning her head into Steve’s shoulder. “He doesn’t,” She whispered, nearly silent with mortification. “He doesn’t like Jews.”

Steve felt a sudden rush of anger flood hot through her body. She took a moment to inhale calmly through her nose. “Well,” She said with as much composure as she could considering the situation, “Then he’s a silly boy and he doesn’t deserve you.”

 

“That’s what Maman said too when I told her,” Becks said quietly. “And I know, I know you’re right, but I just can’t help it. I like him.”

 

Steve bit her lip, thinking. “Rivka,” She said after a while, moving to take the other girl’s shoulders and look in her eyes. They were wet with held back tears. “You shouldn’t feel badly that you like this boy. Feelings sometimes can’t be explained, or understood or made sense of. But you should _never_ be made to feel bad about who you are.

 

"What’s happening now in the world it’s, it’s a horrible thing. And good kind people like you get hurt. But Becks you’ve got to be strong because there will always be a bully ready to knock you down. You’ve got to be the one to stand up again.” She gave Beck’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s hard not to listen to them,” She whispered and Becks started to cry. “But you’ve got to stand up.” She hugged her. “It’ll be alright,” She spoke into the younger girl’s hair. “I know it doesn’t feel like it but I promise, someday it’ll be alright.”

 

She glanced up from Beck’s shoulder and caught Winifred’s eye. The other woman was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, clutching at a dishtowel.

 

_Thank you_ , She mouthed to Steve, wiping at her eyes.

 

 

*

_April 1942_

_Hey Buck,_

_I forgot to tell you last time thank you for the money. I mean, your ma slipped it into my coat pocket last week when I was over for dinner, but I know it came from you. ~~Would~~ Shoot me a line would ya just so’s I know you didn’t suffocate under all the snow?_

_Your pal,_

_Steve_

_*_

The days stretched on, as the winter season ebbed. Atypically, the beginning of April cast grey skies and bitter cold winds across New York. Steve found herself trudging home through knee high drifts of snow, taking sharp breaths through the fabric of her scarf. By the time she got home, it was pitch dark, and her toes felt frozen solid in her stockings.

 

Shivering, she unrolled the wool, not bothering with the lights. She left her clothes in a pile in the hallway and hobbled toward the bedroom like an old woman. Rummaging through the bureau, she fumbled on a thick sweater of Bucky’s before falling onto the bed, eyes pinching shut with exhaustion. As she rubbed her face senselessly against the pillow, the smell of gardenias came to her.

 

“Goddamn it,” She whispered, voice jagged. “Goddamn it.”

_*_

“Fourteen bucks,” Ruthie said, breath puffing out. It was still unseasonably cold and condensation circled her mouth like a strange ghost. “Can you believe it,” She shook the tin, listening to the rattle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much money in one place before.”

“Thank you for supporting your troops,” Barb nodded at a huddle of women, who were all clutching their bags of cookies in the cold. “Too bad they taste like rubbish,” She asided to Steve who smothered a laugh with a gloved fist.

 

“They’re not _that_ bad,” Steve lied, busying herself with sorting the bags of cookies. There really was only so much one could do without flour even if one’s name was Winifred Barnes.

 

“No,” Barb agreed. “They’re worse.”

 

“Shh, people are coming.” Ruthie elbowed the other girl sharp enough to make her yelp in surprise, before turning to smile at the older women approaching. Steve concentrated on sorting and wiggling her toes in Bucky’s best wool socks to try to stay warm. Where was the Spring?

*

_~~April 1942~~ _

_~~Buck, I thought everything was fine between us. If so, why haven’t I heard from you? Should I say I’m sorry? is that what you want to hear? are you disgusted by me? buck I just. I. I can’t be sorry. I wish. no, I. that is. Bucky, you’ve got to know by now that I lo FUCK. Why do you have to- I’m not sending this~~ _ _. (unsent)_

_May 1942_

_Bucky,_

_Ruthie and Barb and I went to a booster meeting the other week. We spent five hours selling flourless cookies on the corner for the soldiers. Before you ask, yes I did wear your wool coat and was plenty warm. Yes, also your thick gloves. You shouldn’t have left those behind. Anyway, the cookies were admittedly pretty awful, but we sold every last one. I guess everyone has someone overseas now, or working away from home._

_I’ve been spending a lot of time with Peggy and her friend Angie too. They’re great gals, you’ll like them. Angie is a waitress by day, flourishing actress by night. Peg and I went to one of her one acts, and it was something else! We’ll have to see if she’s doing one when you’re back._

_Hope you’re staying warm up there. Maybe take a second to write to me sometime,_

_Your friend,_

_Steve_

*****

“I’ll send someone to come pick you up when you get off,” Peggy’s voice crackled down the line. “What time are you closing shop?”

“Should be around six.” Steve was in the cramped little office in the back, squinting at a pile of receipts. Mrs. Pattenson’s handwriting was nearly illegible. She rubbed her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know Peg, I’m kind of wiped.”

 

“It’ll be good for you Steve,” Peggy said quietly. “To get out, have some fun. Invite Ruthie and Barb if you want, they seem like nice girls.”

“Sure,” Steve cleared her throat a couple of times. “I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone and sighed, aimlessly shuffling the papers. Eventually she decided she couldn’t do anymore work that night and closed up shop. As she slipped the key into her pocket and muffled a yawn, she caught sight of the car parked at the curb and stopped short.

 

It was like something out of Bucky’s pop mags; long and sleek and black. Strangely metallic. The driver, who had been leaning against the passenger door, smoking a cigarette, looked up at her.

 

“My, when Carter said you were smallish she sure wasn’t kidding.”

 

“Excuse me?” Steve went cold with fury as the man stood up and stepped on his cigarette. “Who the hell are you?”

 

“I see my reputation does not precede me,” He moved toward her, dark eyes twinkling.

 

Steve tilted her head, taking in his sharp suit, the jaunty mustache and slicked back hair. “Howard Stark?” She spoke, slowly.

 

The man winked. “The one and only. Come on, I’ve been ordered to give you a ride to the illustrious Ms. Carter’s abode. If you will,” And then he actually held his arm out to her, like she was in a Jane Austen novel. Steve couldn’t help but crack a grin at his blatant rakish attitude.

*****

_May 1942_

_Buck,_

_I suppose you’ll be coming home in a week or so, so I’ll see you then. You might not even get this letter until you get back come to think of it. Anyhow, you’ll never guess who I met so I’ll just tell ya - Howard Stark! Can you believe it? I remember you reading me those articles about the weird machines he was inventing. And remember at the 39 fair he had those little robots that chirped? Anyway, he and Peggy are good chums and work together on whatever secret projects I pretend to know nothing about. we’ve all been getting on real well. You’d like Howard, he’s ~~just your type~~ a riot._

_I was chatting with Peggy about the Expo and about how you’d be dying to go. I told her we could all go together._

_~~I~~ _ _Miss you lots,_

_Steve_

 

 

*

 

There was a heavy grey skyline, the morning Bucky came home. Steve, Winifred and Becks headed to the train station early that morning and stood pressed together under an old black umbrella. Steve’s stomach was cramping and she didn’t even have the energy to lie to herself about why. She hadn’t heard from Buck in months; not since that first vague letter and the one to Mrs. Barnes.

 

By the time the old train rumbled through the station, it had begun to drizzle and Steve’s stringy hair was frizzing around her face. The train stopped and the doors thrown open, people streamed out and there was a sudden surge of commotion as the porters started piling up luggage. There were soldiers too, huddled together laughing, breaking away when they caught sight of their family members. Steve’s breath caught as she saw Bucky step off the train, looking smart in her uniform and little hat, curls somehow perfect despite the weather. She was glancing around, and then she turned and their eyes locked. For a moment Buck stood unmoving in the rushing crowd, her face frozen, and then she was smiling and running towards them.

 

“Becks!” She shouted, “Maman, Steve!” She swept a giggling Becks into a fierce hug before moving to greet Winifred. Steve stood by awkwardly clutching the umbrella handle in a white knuckled grip.

 

“Jem, it’s so good to have you back.” Winifred was saying, voice muffled against Bucky’s shoulder. “And you look so sharp in your uniform.” She put a light hand to Bucky’s face as she pulled away. “But I thought you said they were feeding you? I think you’ve lost weight, your face is looking so thin.”

 

“Maman, I’m fine.” Bucky looked like she was refraining from rolling her eyes as she glanced over Winifred’s shoulder to Steve. “Hiya Steve,” She said softly. “It’s good to see you.”

 

No hug then. All right. Steve couldn’t say she was surprised. She cleared her throat. “You too Buck.” She said, nodding like some kind of stringed puppet-Steve. There was a strange pause where they stood watching each other, Steve desperately hoping Bucky couldn’t read anything on her face. Hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt standing under the umbrella with her nose starting to drip.

 

“Well,” Winifred said, cutting through the odd silence. “Let’s get you back home and properly fed.” And suddenly Becks was pulling on Bucky’s arm, chattering away and the tension was broken. Winifred fell back to walk with Steve and the two of them watched the younger Barnes’ girls stroll ahead uncaring of the rain.

 

Steve sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with something.

 

“Just give her some time dear,” Winifred wrapped a gentle arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Everything will work out.”

 

*****

 

The week of Bucky’s leave was strange. The first night was spent at Winifred’s, but they didn’t have to share a room because Joshua’s was empty. Steve spent most of the night staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom trying not to think, watching an old model airplane drift listlessly from a string. The next day they took the shaky subway into Brooklyn, Bucky yammering on about Gaby her French roommate who had forgone leave for shipping out a week early.

 

“Place hasn’t changed a bit,” Bucky commented when they got back home.

“What, did you think I’d be living a life of luxury now that you’re gone?” Steve joked halfheartedly. As Bucky bent to unlace her shoes, Steve glanced around the apartment at the piles of uniforms she’d placed on Bucky’s side of the couch, at her journal she’d left unthinkingly open on the kitchen table. Over the months her things had migrated out into the living room, overtaking the place like a slow growing plant. She made her way into the kitchen to fill the kettle - and close the journal- in what had been their normal nightly ritual. Before.

 

“Looks like Mrs. Pattenson is keeping you busy.” Bucky’s voice came from the couch.

 

Steve clunked down the full teapot onto the stove and turned on the gas. “Hmmm.”

 

“What, you not talkin’ to me now?” Bucky’s voice was laced with an oddly jovial tone.

 

Steve turned and pressed back against the corner of the countertop, using the spark of pain as a focal point. Bucky was sitting on her side of the couch, a careless smirk spread across her face. Something about knowing she’d had to move Steve’s things to clear that space, something about the way she was smiling like ignoring Steve’s letters the last three months was no big deal, made Steve break the silence she had promised herself she’d keep.

“Kinda how you didn’t bother to write me the last three months.” As Bucky’s smile fell away, Steve gritted her teeth and managed a less hostile, “Why didn’t you write me back, Buck?”

 

“I…” Bucky’s eyes were wide on her pallid face. Steve could see she had her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. “I guess I was embarrassed.” Her voice wobbled.

 

A strange calm overcame Steve’s mind, and she heard herself say, “You don’t have to be embarrassed Bucky, I said we were fine.” She thought faintly, _is that my voice? It doesn’t sound anything like me._

 

Bucky looked exhausted, like a wilted plant kept too long from the sun. “Ya…I…I know. I’m…” Her voice was hoarse. “You’re my best friend and I just, I just feel like I fucked everything up.”

 

Bucky looked so earnest Steve felt the ice thaw around her heart. “You didn’t fuck anything up,” She said after a minute spent trying to brace herself against a blow that had landed three months before. The teapot started to whistle and she grabbed it, pouring the water with a shaky hand. “Let’s…just…let it go.” She sniffed, reaching for the tea tin.

 

“Tell me about this gang you’re going with these days,” Bucky said, making an obvious effort at cutting through the growing silence. They were both sitting on the couch now, sipping at the scalding liquid.

 

Steve took a steady breath and let it go.

 

*

 

*

 

It was astonishing, Steve thought, how completely horrible Bucky could be sometimes.

 

“What is your problem?” Steve hissed at Bucky when Peggy had moved away. They had met up with the girls the next day for a late lunch. And upon meeting Peggy, Bucky had been made of nothing but backhanded comments. It was as if her sweet mild mannered best friend had been exchanged with a Mr. Hyde character who was barely tolerable.

 

“You’re acting like a real jerk.” Steve clenched her hands in her lap.

 

“Aren’t you the one who always says I am one?” Bucky said blithely, taking a sip of her coffee. Steve stared at her, gob smacked. “What?” Bucky smirked, rapping her fingertips on the table.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve felt her face flush with anger. “I honestly don’t know how to respond to that statement. You…you complete fat head - I really just want to punch you in your stuck up mug right now.”

 

“Ease up,” Bucky sighed, pursing her lips. She looked down at the countertop. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

 

“You were totally out of line,” Steve gritted out through her teeth. She sat up straight as she caught sight of Peggy making her way back over to their table, Angie in tow. “I don’t know what’s eating you but I know there’s a charming Bucky somewhere in there, so wise up.” She turned to smile at Peggy and Angie.

 

“Heya Stevie,” Angie grinned. She plopped down on an empty chair. “And you must be the infamous Bucky Barnes that I have heard so much about.”

 

Steve wanted to sink through the floor. Bucky gave her a quick glance before saying to Angie. “And you must be Angie. Steve’s gone on about that play you were in, says you’re downright talented.”

 

“Aw shucks, Stevie’s a doll.”

 

Peggy, who had moved to sit next to Angie, gave a laugh. “Angie is pure talent don’t let her tell you anything otherwise.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky drawled. Steve wanted to hit something.

 

Peggy, bless her didn’t seem phased. “Stevie says you’re a big science fiction fan,” She sipped her tea. “Angie and I were thinking you two should come with us to the world’s fair in two days.”

 

“And Barb and Ruthie too,” Angie added.

 

“Sounds swell,” Steve grinned, glancing at Bucky. “What do ya say Buck?”

 

“Yea can’t wait.”

 

 

*

 

As Bucky went with Ruthie and Barb to get fizzy drinks and caramel corn, Steve wandered toward the recruitment station. There were a series of posters lining the hallway and she stood on her tiptoes to squint up at the loopy script along the top. “Eh, I could have done better.”

 

“Quite a nice thought don’t you think?” A soft accented voice came to her, and she jerked around in surprise.

 

“Pardon?” She asked the unassuming man, who managed to look somewhat bemused although he had been the one to address her.

 

“The bringing of peace through cooperation,” The man turned over a stack of files in his hands as he spoke. “I apologize for startling you, I have been told I am light footed.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” She nodded politely, turning to wander back towards Bucky and the girls. She felt a spark of unease, like maybe the man was watching her leave, but when she glanced over her shoulder as she went down the stairs, the hallway was empty.

 

*

 

 

“There you are,” Bucky hollered, as Steve made her way through the crowd. Ruthie and Barb each handed her a fizzy drink and caramel bag respectively. “We thought you’d gotten lost.”

 

“Hard to get lost with you shriekin’ my name across the place,” Steve popped a caramel corn in her mouth.

 

“Aw shucks you sweet talker,” Bucky winked, reaching over to steal a piece of corn. Steve’s heart fluttered and she mentally cursed her fair complexion because she knew she was all but glowing.

 

“Gals the show is starting!” Barb cut in, motioning towards the stage. They made their way closer, huddled together, and Steve balanced on the balls of her feet as the lights came up.

 

“Steve look, look,” Bucky’s hand gripped her shoulder when Steve’s balance wavered. “is that a car?”

 

“Floating car, or so Howard says,” Steve murmured out the side of her mouth, grinning as Bucky threw her head back and laughed.

 

“Floating! We really must be in the future.” She laughed even harder when the car fell onto the stage.

*

Peggy and Angie were waiting for them by the side of the stage by the time the girls threaded their way through the crowd. Ruthie and Barb were nearly beside themselves with excitement but Bucky’s face was sullen. Steve grit her teeth when Bucky’s comments grew more and more sarcastic. Even Ruthie, who was oblivious most of the time, was casting her wide eyed looks.

 

Peggy led them through the back stage area, to a dressing room lined with plush couches.

 

“He should be with us shortly,” She said, sinking onto the couch with a sigh. Ruthie and Barb headed to the bathroom to powder their noses. Bucky wandered towards the far side of the room, where Howard’s desk sat cluttered with odds and ends. Steve trailed after.

 

“See Buck, Howard said he’d give us a tour through his labs,” Steve nudged Bucky’s shoulder. “Pretty nifty, huh?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged, poking disinterestedly at a box of cigars. She hadn’t even bothered to glance in her direction.

 

“What’s wrong?” Steve kept her voice low. “I wish you’d tell me.”

 

“I wish you’d lay off me,” Bucky bit back.

 

Steve gave her up as a bad job and stomped over to sit with Peggy and Angie on the couch. If Bucky wanted to be a drip she could go sulk by herself in the corner.

 

“Gals I’m so sorry about Bucky, I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” Steve whispered quietly to the two girls.

 

“Don’t you?” Peggy replied with a raised eyebrow.

 

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“Oh you don’t tease her,” Angie slapped Peggy’s shoulder. Then she smiled over at Steve, her eyes alit with mirth. “Don’t worry about it Stevie.”

 

 

*

 

*

Howard’s lab was a lesson in organized chaos. Bits and pieces of metal ware lay strewn across the tables, wires in disorganized snarls, strange cranes and tools tucked in every corner. Carbon blueprints for farfetched designs were stacked all over the place.

 

“This here is where all the magic happens,” Howard said, explaining a couple of his designs. Steve tried to follow along as best she could but she found most of it pretty boring. Ruthie and Barb had long since gone glassy eyed. Peggy had waylaid Angie in the dressing room for something that made Steve’s belly curdle in envy if she mused upon it too long. She glanced out of the side of her eye towards Bucky who had her arms crossed but was listening to Howard talk with a look of intent fascination in her eyes.

 

Steve could tell that despite Bucky’s best efforts, her and Howard got on like a house on fire. They were both huge flirts and fed off each other’s come ons. If Steve hadn’t had a long talk with Howard before hand, forbidding him to make any serious overtures towards her friends, she may have been a bit worried.

 

“So your work is mainly weaponry,” Bucky was saying, when Steve tuned back in.

 

“For the most part,” Howard nodded. “I do have a few other side projects going on, like the car that you saw on stage. I’m also working on some prosthetic prototypes for our boys that come home missing a little something.” He shuffled through some blueprints, pointing things out to Bucky. Steve shared a look with Barb who rolled her eyes miming a snore.

 

*

 

“I think you enjoyed that despite yourself,” Steve said later. They were riding the rickety late train through the city.

 

“It was interesting,” Bucky sat with her knees tucked up, hand under her chin. She was gazing out the window into the darkness. “The stuff Stark works on, it’s like something out of my serial magazines. Except these actually work.” She shook her head and glanced towards Steve.

 

“Well, he _is_ somewhat delusional.” Steve grinned when that finally pulled a smile out of Bucky. She’d been starting to worry about the persisting glum mood, despite her annoyance at the girl’s behavior.

 

“Still,” Bucky’s smile faded into a softer smirk.

 

“Still,” Steve agreed.

 

 

*

 

In the end, she spent very little time alone with Bucky during her week of leave. It was painful in an entirely different way than what Steve had anticipated. Had prepared herself for.

 

_I can do this_ she thought, listening to Bucky breathe in the dark. Used to be it took Buck hours to fall asleep. Now, it seemed like she was out like a light as soon as her downy head hit the pillow. It was their last night together and somehow Steve had selfishly expected…something. She rolled over, huffing into the pillowcase.

 

*

 

This time Steve was there when Bucky said goodbye.

 

“I’ll be back before you know it Stevie,” They hugged and Steve could only nod and try to keep her breaths even against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

She stood to the side as Bucky moved to hug Becks and press a kiss against her ma’s cheek. All too soon she was going moving up the train steps, glancing back and raising her hand in farewell. She was so lovely in the morning light with her generous mouth lifted in a soft smile that Steve’s breath caught like a bird in her throat. She lifted her hand to wave as the train left the station and didn’t move from the platform until it was long gone from sight.

*

 

 

Summer hit in a deluge of rain. Days and days of waking to foreboding skies and trudging home drenched in sweat and water. It was almost inevitable that she caught the cold.

 

“You look exhausted,” Peggy commented, over their afternoon tea. Peg always carried a couple of tea bags in her purse. Steve wondered if it was a Peggy thing, or a British thing – or both.

 

“It’s just allergies,” Steve made a face. Her ears were so clogged it felt like her voice was coming from someone else. She felt like an old dog; a worn out heel. “They’re bad around this time of year.”

 

Peggy didn’t look convinced but she was too polite to call Steve out. She did force Steve to accept some Morphorm, which was clearly smuggled from her office. Peggy’s lack of regard for authority hit heartbreakingly close to Bucky’s sometimes.

 

In a few days she had recovered. She was lucky.

 

*****

 

_August 1942_

_Steve,_

_Well, it’s official: I loathe British food. I think almost anything would be better than British food. I think British food can only be loosely defined as food. Yes, I think even Maman’s pea soup would be better and that’s saying something. The only thing going for them the tea, which is admittedly pretty dang good._

_Weather is as rainy as every Jane Austen novel has led me to believe. Fewer horses than I was expecting. More streetlamps. Is this the worst letter you’ve ever read? Probably. I’ll do better in the next one, I promise. I think I may be sleep deprived; the boat ride was pretty grueling and I became quite well acquainted with the taste of my own stomach. I’ll spare you the details but it made me think of you and the winter of 38’. You had better be eating your vegetables._

_I can’t believe I wrote about the weather. Jeez, I’m sorry._

_b_

_September 1942_

_Bucky_

_I’m gonna remind you about British food the next time I make your Ma’s pea soup. Peggy says you just have dulled American taste buds. I tried to fight for your honor but she offered to make me tea in recompense so I resolved to forgive her._

_How’s training going? Are you staying in London despite the blitz? It’s weirdly quiet in the apartment without your snores._

_Stay safe,_

_Steve_

_Sep. 42_

_steve,_

_Training is all right. Almost painfully boring really. You’d think they didn’t know I could [redact] when they hired me by the way they’re going. Yes, I’m in London for now, but don’t worry it’s not so bad here really. The avenue trees are turning their colors and you’d love to paint London, Steve. Each cobblestone I step on has been here for hundreds of years. Maybe we can visit together some day when this is all over. Brooklyn feels like a baby by comparison._

_I gotta tell you where I work is something else. We have [redact] [redact] some days I don’t even [redact] [redact] and of course it rains half the time anyway so who really cares._

_And I don’t snore! Nice try though,_

_b_

_October 1942_

_Buck,_

_What kind of things are you sayin’ that half your letter is blacked out? You better watch it or they’ll keep it. Barb was saying how that happened to a cousin of hers. Of course everything Barb says you gotta take with a grain of salt, but still. I’d be right peeved if I stopped getting letters from you. What do they have you typing over there anyway?_

_It’s cold here too. I gave in and am wearing your old wool jacket cause it’s thicker than mine. Fits me bout how you’d expect - I look like a kid in her mom’s clothes. Peggy talks about London a lot too. I can almost paint a clear picture in my mind._

_Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding my question about the blitz. Please don’t do anything stupid and get yourself blown up._

_I know it’s impossible for you not to do something stupid. But try._

_Steve_

 

*

 

Going to bed was the worst part. It had been months now but Steve still couldn’t get over the silence. The piano music coming from below only made her miss the sound of Bucky humming along, the yelling from the Murphy brothers next door only made her miss Bucky yelling back in return. Most nights Steve found herself sleeping in Bucky’s nightgowns. The bedroom at night felt darker and she shifted restlessly, full of anger for nothing she could name.

 

*

“-having lunch with a couple of colleagues from another branch in my company.” Peggy was saying, with the tone of voice that told Steve she was trying to sound causal but meant anything but.

 

“And?” She said after a moment, when Peggy didn’t continue.

 

“And, one of them seems to have taken an interest in you.”

 

“In me?” Steve frowned. “I don’t understand.”

 

Peggy sighed. “Stevie.” She tapped her fingers against the arm of the couch for a few moments before sighing and looking at her with serious eyes. “I want to offer you a job.”

 

*

Peggy led Steve through a series of white tiled tunnels, down, down, down.

 

“You’ll get used to it after a while,” Peggy assured over her shoulder.

 

“Ah great.” Steve fisted her hands at her sides, nervously. Peggy stopped at a door next to the lab windows and pulled out a couple of lab coats.

 

“This will do for now,” She handed Steve one. “We can find you one in a smaller size by next week.”

 

“Thanks Peg,” The lab coat swam on her and she rolled the sleeves up a couple of times thanking Peggy again as she held the door open for her.

 

“Dr. Erskine,” Peggy called out across the empty lab. There was a crash from the back and a muffled yell before an older man shuffled into sight.

 

“Ms. Carter,” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and nodded in greeting before turning to Steve. “And you must be Ms. Rogers. I am Abraham Erskine, head biochemist for Rebirth.”

 

“Pleasure,” Steve reached out and shook his hand before frowning. “I’m sorry, but you look very familiar. Have we met?”

“Ah,” Dr. Erskine stuttered and then it came to her.

 

“You’re the man from the fair!” She frowned in surprise, glancing between the two of them. Peggy had turned to stare at Erskine. “What’s going on here?”

“Ah well I confess I had wanted to meet you since Ms. Carter talked so fondly of you, but that was just a coincidence. I had just finished medical examinations for recruits and was wandering down the hall.” He glanced at Peggy. “I promise, it wasn’t planned.”

 

“Right,” Steve said slowly. Still seemed a little too coincidental, but Erskine looked harmless enough. And lab assistant was a good, steady job so she let him show her around the lab and explain what she would be doing.

 

“Mostly just assisting me with the day to day, documenting the results of our experimental trials,” Erskine led her to a filing room. Peggy was following along behind, an amused expression on her face.

 

“So what do you think?” Erskine asked after they’d circled their way back.

 

Steve glanced around, taking in the long lab tables set up with microscopes, beakers and test tubes. She looked back at Erskine and smiled. “I’ll do it.”

 

*

Erskine kept a tight schedule and essentially lived in his lab. He was there when Steve arrived in the morning, and still puttering around when she bid him goodnight. He reminded her of Howard in the way that he would go off on long tangents about science-y things that went way over her head. Bucky would like him, she often thought, as she watched him work; plating on blood agar, showing her how to properly do a gram stain.

“Rebirth could change the world,” Erskine explained, as he showed her how to adjust the fine focus on the microscope. She had been working at the lab for a few weeks but had given the microscopes a wide birth, partially afraid she’d knock into one and break it, and partially because the things were damn intimidating.

 

“Help us win the war?” She asked, as he motioned for her to try.

 

“Yes.” He sighed. “Understand that wars don’t make men great Stevie, but they can bring out the greatness in good men. If we can find the right candidate, one who would respect the power the serum grants...” He trailed off, giving her a glance as she stepped back to let him take a look. “Oh well done, I think you’re getting the hand of this.”

 

“I hope so,” She nodded towards the slide and made a face. “Sorry, I’m still having some difficulty.”

 

Erskine waved his hand, still looking through the ocular lens. “These things are tricky, don’t let it trouble you.”

 

 

*

 

Most of her time in the SSR’s central lab was spent filing, a task which Steve found to be comfortably monotonous. Occasionally she assisted with Dr. Erskine’s experiments, helping to plate slide samples and conduct blood analysis. Sometimes she chatted with the soldiers who had come in for physicals, telling poorly timed jokes to try and ease their nervousness. She imagined they were all Joshua, friendly boys from Brooklyn.

 

Howard, who worked in a lab on an even lower floor, popped in to gab with her on occasion. He swore he was close to fixing all the glitches in his great vita ray machine. Personally Steve was just glad she’d never have to set foot in that death trap. Vita ray? Science fiction for sure.

 

*

 

_Oct. 42_

_Steve,_

_Ha. You’re too funny._

_Fine, I know you won’t stop bugging me cause you’re like a dog with a bone. It was kind of scary when the sirens went off the first time but now it’s sort of just something that we do. That sounds horrible, but you’ve got to get used to it after a while otherwise you’d never get anything done. Most of the time it happens when [redact] [redact] and I’m [redact]. It happened when I was asleep one time and me and the gals next door went down to the basement. It feels like I’m in the middle of a dream when it happens at night, with the room shaking and dust falling from the ceiling._

_Despite that, people are remarkably cheerful and sure that the war will be over soon. I hope they’re right._

_I’m mostly typing industrial instruction packets. About as interesting as watching paint dry._

_Now don’t **you** do anything stupid! _

_b_

_October 1942_

_Buck,_

_It’s impossible for me to do anything stupid because you took all the stupid with you! I went to visit your ma and Becks the other day. Becks coerced me into a game of dreidel even though Chanukah is still months away. She said she wanted to practice – HAHA. We used buttons as gelt thank god because I was definitely conned and got sick of her chanting shin shin, shin put one in, after the first five minutes. I have to keep reminding myself that she’s of that age. Don’t get me wrong, most of the time she’s a dear but other times she’s too much like you for her own good!_

_On a more serious note, thank you for telling me about what happened. Just, please be careful and I promise in exchange I will be too. I will eat my vegables. I will wear your thicker coat. I will not go out in bad weather if I can help it. Pegs actually got me a job working in her office. I’m mostly filing but it’s better than working in Mrs. Pattenson’s shop!_

_Yours truly,_

_Steve_

*

 

 

 

The second time Steve got sick, she wasn’t so lucky. Dr. Erskine saw her coughing and wouldn’t take no for an answer, sending her home with a bottle of Morphorm straight away.

 

She made herself a cup of tea and took it to bed, fumbling on an old flannel nightgown of Bucky’s. She fell into a restless sleep and awoke some time in the dark, freezing cold. Coughing, she went to find the spare blanket, and then emptied out two drawers in the dresser, piling them on the bed as well. She poured herself some more medicine and crawled underneath the mound of makeshift blankets, shivering.

 

The next morning, she awoke to the glare of the light searing into her eyes and found she didn’t have the energy to get up. She rolled over, coughing and pulled the pillow over her head.

 

*

She opened her eyes to a dark apartment and Peggy sleeping in a chair she must have dragged in sometime during the day. She jerked awake when Steve started to cough.

 

“Sorry,” Steve whispered miserably into her fist. Her voice was nearly gone. “How’d you get in?”

“Perks of being a spy,” Peggy said dryly, standing and smoothing out the skirt of her dress. “Let me go make you some tea.” She put her hand to Steve’s forehead and her face was pinched when she removed it.

 

“Thanks Peg,” Steve murmured.

 

*

Peggy couldn’t get her fever to break. She dabbed Steve’s face with a wet rag, chipped off bits of ice for her to suck on, opened the window to let the brisk air sweep through the room, but Steve’s fever raged on.

 

“Sorry Peg,” Steve sniffled miserably as the girl reached across the bed to close the window.

 

“Shhh it’s alright. Stevie, I think...” Peggy stood with her hands on her hips looking down at her pitiful state. Steve coughed into her handkerchief. Her eyes felt like lead weights. “I think I’m going to go get Dr. Erskine. He may know what to do.”

 

*

 

“I wanted to make a difference so badly,” Steve coughed, phlegmy. “I wanted to help…I…”

 

“Don’t strain yourself Stevie.” Dr. Erskine said softly, from her bedside. He had a stethoscope cradled between his palms. His face was worn and tired when Steve fluttered her eyes open enough to look over.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Steve whispered. Her mouth felt full of cotton, and she was so warm like she was standing outside on a bright summer day.

 

When she closed her eyes she could almost feel the sunlight against her face. In the distance there was the sound of waves crashing against the sand and far down the coastline, she could see the lights from distant fishing ships. There was the shape of Bucky running towards her, laughing as she ran along the beach. “Buck,” Steve rasped. Bucky stopped just out of arms reach and her mouth moved but Steve couldn’t make out the words. Her eyes were very blue. She was so beautiful Steve ached for her.

 

“-idea,” she heard faintly, and then she was blinking up at Peggy’s strained face. “Stevie,” She was saying. “Stevie can you hear me?”

 

“Yea,” Steve said slowly around a swollen tongue. “I’m here.” Her brain felt heavy, waterlogged. There was a sharp ringing in her ears.

 

Peggy was leaning down, “I have an idea but I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

 

“I…” Steve had to swallow a couple of times, but eventually she slurred out, “Of course.” She felt Peggy push something behind her back and the world spun. Bucky was holding a white shell out in her hands and speaking but Steve couldn’t-

 

“Here, let me help you. Dr. Erskine, can you bring that around?” Peggy was pressing something into Steve’s hand, wrapping her fingers around Steve’s own. “Open your eyes now Stevie, come on.”

 

Steve, who hadn’t realized her eyes had fallen shut, forced them open and squinted in the soft light of the bedroom. What was, oh, there was a pen in her hand. Where was Bucky? Wasn’t she just here?

 

“-Stevie,” Peggy was saying, “here, sign here.” Steve was so weak, Peggy had to help hold her fingers closed around the pen.

 

“I would have waited,” She said nonsensically, when Peggy took the signed papers away. “I would have waited for you.”

 

*

She didn’t remember much after that, except the all-consuming fire. She was standing in the middle of it, in the eye of a great snow squall. White flames, white covered plains stretched as far as the eye could see in front of her; strange monoliths of metal glass shooting upwards in a prism of color; flashing lights, stars and stripes; a glowing red suit falling from a hole in the sky; a crowded dance hall full of bloodied faces laughing at her. And Steve searched, heart stuttering at every dark head of curls she saw. _There_ , she thought, reaching out to smoke _, no, there_. She could feel the tips of her fingertips burning away as she turned around. Nothing.

 

*

_“You always fall hard,” Sarah ran a hand through Steve’s hair. It was summertime and the air was thick with a cloying humidity. “I should have known.”_

 

_“Known what?” Steve asked, sleepily._

_“You just promise me you’ll always stand back up Steve. No matter what.”_

_“I promise Mama,” Steve mumbled, eyes closed. “I promise.”_

 

*

The first thing she became aware of was the light. It was all encompassing, white and searing against her closed eyelids. She squinted them open and took in the small bedroom in which she was situated. Not a hospital, she thought hazily, those curtains were too hideous to be anything other than homemade.

 

“You’re awake I see,” Peggy’s voice came from the door. “No, hold on a moment, let me get you some water.” She said when Steve tried to tilt her head towards her.

 

“These came for you,” She said, after she'd helped Steve lay down again. She carefully handed Steve a little stack of letters. Steve ran her fingers over the familiar handwriting. “I’ll leave you alone with her.”

 

“Thank you Peggy,” Steve said hoarsely. “For everything.”

 

“We’ll speak later,” Peggy promised, at the door again. “Oh and I’m afraid you slept through the beginning of a new year, so happy 1943.”

 

“W-what day is it?” Steve asked, shakily. Last thing she remembered it had been the last fall days of November.

 

“January 12th,” Peggy said, softly as if to lighten the blow and then she slipped away. Steve felt dizzy and lifted a hand to her head for a moment. January 12th. God.

 

 

 

*

Steve started on the first letter from Bucky, dated some long weeks prior. Bucky’s script was blotched in some places as though the letter had travelled through rain, and as ever the heavy pen of censorship redacted out large sections.

 

_Nov. 42_

_I’m not in London anymore Steve, but it’s just for a little bit. We [redact] can you believe it? I bet I could see [redact] [redact]. Happy early holidays to me! I ate lots of cheese for you don’t worry._

_Anyway, I’ll let you know when I’m back. keep writing to me in the meantime, I haven’t heard from you in a while_

_love b_

Steve rubbed her eyes and opened the second letter.

 

_Nov. 42_

_Steve_

_I gotta wonder if you’re mad at me cause I haven’t heard from you in a while. Am I being dumb? I’m being dumb. Your letters are probably lost in circulation. They have to [redact] [redact] it’s [redact] ridiculous really. What do they think is gonna happen? Anyway, write me back, I miss you something fierce. All the people here are just not you._

_love buck_

And the third,

_Dec. 42_

_So they’re sending me to Italy just in time for christmas. I’m attaching as a secretary to some big wig in the 107 th company. I’m not gonna bother specifying where because I know it’ll be redacted and I’ll probably get another talking to for sharing ‘sensitive information’. Suffice to say, I’ll be fine and it’s somewhere near to a place that rhymes with [redact]. Did that make it through?? Probably not. _

_I hope you’re doing alright. Cause I moved I know the letters probably haven’t caught up with me, but I keep thinking crazy thoughts like how you might have been struck down with some horrible illness like in 38 and you’re fading away on a bed somewhere. I felt so terrible writing that I had to get up and make myself some tea._

_I had a dream a few nights ago that we were back on brighton beach and I was pulling you out into the water. The sun was searing on the top of my head. Can we go back next summer? Maybe on my next leave? I’ll even buy you an ice cream cone if you’ll go out swimming with me. It’s so cold here some days I have a hard time remembering what warm feels like._

_Steve, I hope you’re well. I just - I know I’m being dumb. You’re not mad at me, are you?_

_If you are, I’m sorry. But I know it’s probably just that your letters got lost somewhere. Right? Right._

_Alright I’m going to stop before I annoy myself even more with my ramblings. Stay warm and out of trouble_

_love B_

*

It was a strange thing. Her new body. She walked into the bathroom on coltishly long legs, fingers stiff at her sides. Her breasts were a heavy awkward weight on her chest. When she made it to the mirror, her eyes darted around and she fumbled off the dress she had borrowed from Peggy. As the fabric fluttered around her ankles she let out a shaky breath as she tentatively met her own eyes in the mirror.

 

“It’s just you,” Her face flushed. “It’s just you.” It _was_ her only it wasn’t. Like someone had painted her face on another woman’s body. A shapely, curvy woman whose breasts reminded her of…

 

“Get a grip Rogers!” She snapped at herself, watching the familiar stranger move her mouth. At least her voice was the same. Her hair, which usually hung lank and dull, was vibrant and the rings that perpetually circled her eyes were all but nonexistent.

 

“Stevie?” Peggy’s voice came, hesitant, from the other room. She’d probably heard Steve yell at herself and was worried for her sanity.

 

“Just a second!” She shrieked, yanking up the dress. Her foot got caught on the hem and she tripped, falling against the wall. At least she could take comfort in her perpetual clumsiness.

 

“I was beginning to think you’d died in there,” Peggy quipped, when Steve eventually hobbled her way out of the bathroom. “Here, I brought you some new dresses of your own.” She laid a small pile out on the bed.

 

“Thanks Peggy,” Steve said, touched. She ran her hand over the edge of a blue dress. When she glanced up, Peggy was frowning. “What is it?”

 

“Stevie,” Peggy sighed. “Don’t thank me yet.”

 

 

*

 

 

“This’ll be great, you’ll see!” Angie clapped her hands enthusiastically. They were sitting on Peggy and Angie’s couch. Peggy was away somewhere, at her secret not happening but actually happening meetings with Howard. “Stevie, you and me-“

 

“-and 20 other people-“ Steve cut in,

 

“-and 20 other people, on the road! Traveling!”

 

“But Angie, I’m not an actress. You saw me practicing, I sound like a shaky record. How am I supposed to bring courage to people when I can’t say a sentence without my voice cracking? Who would buy my bonds? A drunken horse has more grace than I do. I look like a circus animal in my dress-“

 

“First of all and most importantly,” Angie held up a hand. “How in blazes do you know how much grace a drunk horse has? Secondly, we’re all wearing those uniforms so what are ya tryin’ to say? Hmm?”

 

“Er,” Steve fumbled for a response, flushing when Angie cracked up.

 

“I’m just playing Stevie.” Angie grinned, leaning back against the couch. “Chin up, this will be fun. Sides’ I hear sometimes they send USO groups overseas. Maybe we could see your girl, eh?”

 

Steve choked on her tea. Coughing she set the cup down. “She’s not my girl.”

 

“Seemed enough like your gal from what I saw.” A smile curled the corner of Angie’s mouth.

 

Steve’s stomach sank and she bit her lip. “Angie…”

 

“Oh Stevie,” Angie sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t poke fun.”

 

“S’okay.” Steve said softly, looking down. She fiddled with the handle of her cup. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

 

*

“You don’t have to do this,” Peggy said later on that night. She looked like she’d been forced to swallow a lemon. “I tried to talk to them but I was overruled. I’m bloody well enraged over it.”

 

Steve blew out a sigh. “No Peg. I need to do something. I need to help.”

 

“Well at least you won’t be alone.” They both glanced at Angie who had fallen asleep earlier, face smashed in the sofa pillows.

 

“That’s true,” Steve said softly. “Angie’s a doll, Peg. You got lucky.” It was the closest they had ever come to talking about it.

 

“Yes,” Peggy said after a moment. “I rather did, didn’t I.”

 

*

 

“Why me?” She asked Erskine, the day before she was set to leave. “Out of everyone, what’s so special about me?”

 

There was no answer. Steve took a moment to gaze out across the hilltop, letting the winter air dry her face. Then she carefully leaned the bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums against the gravestone, brushing the snow off of the top.

 

“I’m so sorry this happened to you.” She said softly. “You were a good man.”

*

 

Becks opened the door slowly, with a pale face and wide eyes.  “Ms. Carter said you’d be different when you came by,” Her voice was quiet. “But I hadn’t realized…”

 

Steve shrugged, uncomfortably aware of her larger stature. “Yea I know it’s…it’s a lot to take in.” She cleared her throat. “Is your ma home?”

 

Becks seemed to shake herself out of her stupor and held the door open. “Ya, she’s back in the kitchen. Come on in Stevie.”

 

Becks took her coat as always, but her eyes were still wider than usual. “Did it hurt? Ms. Carter said you were sick and this saved you.” She asked as they stood in the foyer.

 

“Yea Becks.” Steve bit her lip. “It hurt.”

 

Becks seemed to rock on her feet for a moment before falling forward and giving Steve a crushing hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” She spoke tearfully into Steve’s shoulder. “When Ms. Carter came by and told us you were too sick to visit I was beside myself.”

 

“Aw Becks,” Steve ran a hand over her hair, shocked at how small she was now. “I’m alright I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you and your ma.”

 

Becks pulled back sniffing. “Oh, ma’s in the kitchen waiting for you. You’d better brace yourself for an earful.”

 

*

 

Winifred took it surprisingly well considering. There was a lot of hemming and hawing and ‘Stevie you do beat all. Jacobina is gonna have a heart attack when she comes back and sees that you're taller than her,’ but she’d given Steve a hard hug and set her to work with preparing dinner.

 

“We haven’t heard anything from Jacobina since December,” Winifred piled more mashed potatoes on Steve’s plate.

 

“Peggy says the mail gets backed up sometimes, especially around the holidays,” Steve took a big spoonful of the potatoes. They were thick and creamy and delicious in her mouth. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

 

“Oh I’m not worried,” But Winifred’s shoulders relaxed at Steve’s words. “My daughter is a horrible correspondent even in the best of times. Even Joshua writes more than her.”

 

Steve and Becks laughed, “How is Joshua?” Steve asked when they'd settled down.

 

Winifred shrugged, turning her glass. “Somewhere in France.” Her voice was faint, with memory and grief.

 

“I wrote telling him he should go to Reims,” Becks said through a mouthful of fish.

 

“I had liked for us all to go back one day,” Winifred seemed to shake herself awake then. “Well, what can be done but to press forward. Perhaps one day after this wretched war is over we can all go back. Here let me get you more fish Stevie.”

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_January 1943_

_Buck,_

_Sorry I haven’t written in a while and HAPPY NEW YEAR! First, let me say I am fine! I was sick for a bit but I am much much better now. And what’s more, Peggy got me a spot working with the USO because the lab closed down. We’re travelling a bit around the country, so my letters may take a while to find you. Address your letters to your ma and I’ll have her forward them to me._

_Love,_

_Steve_

 

 

*

 

“Violet, Charlotte, Margery, Josephine. Marsha, Clementine, Anne, Theresa and Mary. Violet, Charlotte, Margery, Jo-“

 

“With lungs like those they should have put you on the chorus line.” Steve jumped at the sound of Angie’s voice and whipped around. The other girl was grinning at her, leaning against one of the beds.

 

“Hey Angie,” Steve smiled, closing her notebook and the list within. She tapped it against the table a few times before forcing herself to quit.

 

“Heya stars and stripes,” Angie winked at Steve’s groan. “Don’t worry, you’ll have their names memorized soon enough.”

 

“I’m horrible at names. Buck always…” Steve bit her lips to stop herself from yapping. Angie gave her a knowing look.

 

“Brace yourself Stevie, cause I’m here to collect you for rehearsal.”

 

“Noooo,” Steve heaved a sigh and stood, resigned. “Alright I give in, let’s go.”

 

“That’s the spirit!”

 

*

 

The night after their first performance in Wisconsin, Steve laid out on her little bunk and stared up at the ceiling trying not to cry. The world was a cold strange place tonight.

 

“It’ll get better,” She whispered to herself, swiping at her eyes. She rolled over on her belly, rubbing her face against the pillowcase, sniffling. “Oh Bucky, I wish you were here.”

 

*

“When ya look out over the audience just concentrate on the lights, don’t try ta look at their faces,” Violet said as she carefully spread red lipstick over her mouth. “It’ll help ya not freeze up again.”

 

“Oh,” Steve fiddled with one of the blush brushes, “Alright, thanks.”

 

“You weren’t all that bad,” Angie assured, gently taking the brush away from Steve and opening a compact of blush. She dipped the brush in and dabbed the makeup gently across Steve’s cheeks. “You should have seen me my first time up on a stage. Yeesh. And Stevie, in that get up no one was payin’ any attention to what you were saying in the first place. Everyone was staring at your gams.”

 

Steve flushed, shifting in her dress. “I know,” she said morosely. “I never realized before. Buck used to have to fight em’ off with sticks.” The first few weeks in her new body she had been subjected to all sorts strange behavior from all kinds of men. Suddenly they were holding doors open for her, smiling at her and tipping their hats as they walked by, offering to buy her a drink in the cafes, glancing at her as she went down the street. It was horrible because as much as Steve was being seen, she was somehow wholly invisible.

 

“Aw Stevie,” Angie said, giving her a commiserating smile. It was the first time Steve had ever seen a trace of bitterness on her face. “I wish I could say it gets better.”

 

 

*

 

Her second and third performances were just as abysmal. Steve dreaded going out onto the stage every time curtain call hit.

 

_Just look into the lights,_ Steve told herself sweating in her ridiculous tights, heart in her throat. She stood bracingly in a striped red and white skirt in the center of the stage. The girls danced around her and she held the funny prop shield they’d given her up over her head.

 

“Support the troops,” She said, feeling like an idiot as she squinted at the notes she’d taped to the back. “Help to put a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun!”

 

*

 

_February 1943_

_Buck,_

_I repaired a torn USO gal’s dress today and lemme tell you the outfit was like something out of a nightmare. Turns out there is such a thing as too much primary color, who knew? Picture a red and white candy cane skirt and a blue starred blouse that is far too revealing for polite company. Horrid._

_How’s Italy? I hope you’re staying warm and safe. We are making our way towards California, stopping at bases along the way. They say it’s always warm in LA._

_I miss you,_

_Steve_

*

 

“No, no, no,” Their director scowled at her, jowls quivering with frustration as he shook his head. “You’re pulling back too soon. You need to follow through with your punch or it looks fake. Again.”

 

Steve bit her lip, glancing over at Bill, the poor chap who played Adolf Hitler. He gave her a commiserating look. Above his lip his make-upped mustache was smearing.

 

“Sorry,” She mouthed.

 

“Go for it,” he sighed in resignation.

 

*****

 

 

_February 1943_

_Buck_

_Some days I miss home so badly I can barely breathe. But this is a good thing I’m doing. A good thing. I just have to keep reminding myself that and it’ll stick._

_Please stay safe wherever you lay your head,_

_Steve_

*

 

The seventh and eighth performances went mostly the same way. Steve gritted her teeth and fumbled through the lines. By the tenth performance she was in the depths of despair (as Bucky liked to say when she was feeling particularly like Anne Shirley) and had given up at the situation ever improving.

 

By the fifteenth performance she had memorized all the lines, and the fight sequences came easier, but she still hated the attention: the feeling of hundreds of eyes on her. She hated wearing the dresses – which she had previously attributed to never finding a dress that fit but now suspected was something more deeply rooted – she much preferred the fit of tailored pants and longed for the hours when she was off and could wander through the strange towns in disguise. No one bothered her when she was a boy, with her hair tucked under a hat.

 

The USO gals were friendly enough, but Steve didn’t have anything in common with them. They were all beautiful, so glamorous like they had stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Angie was her only real friend and she was so popular Steve felt bad keeping her away from the group. She’d tag along as they went out to the local digs, pubs, dance halls, and concerts but she spent most of the time drawing in her little notebook or writing letters to Bucky she’d never send.

 

*

In March they reached California and it was warm. The Santa Monica pier was lit up by electric lights; the spinning carousel, the smell of cotton candy, the sound of far-off laughter on the air made Steve think of hot summers weaving through the crowds at Coney Island.

 

Steve wandered her way down the beach away from the crowd and stood letting the weaves lap over her feet, looking out over the ocean. As the sun went down the sea lit up like fire, the moon appeared a full specter in the sky. She closed her eyes and imagined somewhere, Bucky looking up at the same moon.

 

“Happy birthday sweetheart,” She whispered.

 

*

 

“God Peggy,” Steve looked up at her through the rain. It was a damp evening in northern California and Peggy had driven up to visit after some secret non-meeting in LA. “I can’t do this anymore. I _can’t._ You made me to help, so why won’t you let me help?”

 

Peggy’s hair hung in soaked ringlets around her face. They stood staring at each other for a moment, the rainfall the only sound between them. Eventually Steve looked down at her notebook in resignation, running her thumb over the performing monkey, smearing its face.

 

The rain was picking up when Peggy finally sighed and shifted her feet in the mud.

 

“Always so dramatic, Stevie.” She said softly, moving to sit next to Steve on the trunk. “But…I know. I took the liberty of talking with my boss-”

“You have a boss?” Steve couldn’t help quipping despite the heavy feeling in her gut.

 

Peggy gave her an arching look out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Unfortunately. But I spoke with them at some length. I had a feeling this,” She waved her hand. “Wouldn’t work as a long term plan. However, I couldn’t do anything until you refused to participate.”

 

“Well it would have been nice if I’d known that little tidbit sooner.” Steve griped, sighing.

 

“Yes, well.” Peggy shrugged and folded her arms, looking as unsure as Steve had ever seen her. “I have a proposition for you,” She said, slowly. “But it’s rather mad.”

 

“Peg,” Steve drawled, voice dry. She gestured to herself. “I’m sitting here in patriotic tights and a sequined shirt. I’m pretending to punch Hitler in the face fifty times a week. It can’t be any worse than this.”

 

 

*

The night before she was set to leave she went to say goodbye to the Barnes’. She stood for a moment looking up at the old row house that was lit up from the inside. So many memories in one warm place. Then she pushed open the gate and headed up the front steps.

 

Over after dinner coffee she said, “I’m going a way for a while.” And neither of the Barnes women looked surprised. “It's part of the agreement of this,” She motioned to herself.

 

“All my children going so far away,” Winifred ran a gentle hand over Steve’s head as she came by with more coffee in a carafe. “You’ll stay safe, yes?”

 

Steve swallowed, touched.  “I’ll try my best.”

 

“You gonna find Jem over there and drag her ass back?” Becks asked and Winifred abruptly looked beside herself with anger and turned to give the girl a tongue-lashing. Over her ma’s shoulder Rivka gave Steve a wink.

 

At the door Steve promised amidst a flurry of goodbye hugs and kisses, “I’ll write to you as much as possible and when I get back we can all go to the movies to celebrate.”

 

“Don’t you forget us now,” Winifred said, and in the dim light her eyes looked almost exactly like Bucky’s. “Take care Stevie. We love you.”

 

“Love you too,” Steve smiled, stepping out into the cold.

 

*

 

_April 1943_

_Happy late birthday Buck. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to send to you just yet._

_Buck I haven’t heard from you in a while and I can’t help but worry. I tried to wait before writing to see if your letters would catch up but there’s been nothing._

_Your ma and Becks were well when I saw them two days ago. Becks is growing up so big, it’s weird to see. I suddenly feel old. Josh is stationed out in France still. I don’t know if you’ve been getting letters from him so I wanted to tell you._

_I hope you're alright Bucky. I hate not hearing from you like this._

_Love,_

_Steve_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the blitz technically ended in 1941. I plead artistic license! Hope ya'll are enjoying it. One more chapter to go. Come and follow me on [tumblr](http://kausaustralis.tumblr.com) if ya like :D


	3. Chapter 3

            

 

**Chapter III**

**June 1943,**

**London England**

*

 

 _I’m a fucking Baker Street irregular,_ Steve thought as she stood in front of the green door, black umbrella clasped in her hand. _Bucky would love this._

 

*

 

“And here’s your desk,” Peggy came to a stop by a scratched deep cherry desk, in front of one of the thickly panned windows. The weak afternoon English sun shone like strange water across the grain. “The gal it belonged to was sent out on assignment, so it’s available” The _for now_ didn’t need to be voiced.

 

“Great,” Steve set her pile of papers on the desk and brushed her hands off on her skirt. She still wasn’t used to fitted clothing. “Thanks Peg, I guess I should get started on the reading material.”

 

“Brilliant. Well I’ve got to go meet a man about a dog,” Peggy smiled, put on her hat and left the busy office.

 

Steve pulled out her chair and sat down, enjoying the creak of the old wood as she settled. Leaning her chin on her hand she took a moment to gaze out the window at the skyline. London, Steve found, was very grey. The clouds hung heavy and dark with impending rain. Grey sky; grey stone buildings, grey bridges.

 

Yet despite this, there was an undercurrent of vibrancy that flowed through the city like electricity. Maybe it was the history that seemed to permeate from London’s very pores, maybe it was the verdant trees that flourished in the rainfall, maybe it was the people who walked down the street galvanized in the wake of every bombing, Steve didn’t know but she was captivated. Bucky’s rambling letters about how bright England was began to make sense.

 

*

A couple of hours later, amidst the humdrum of the general office crew, a woman plopped down at the desk next to Steve’s and started typing furiously on her underwood. Steve glanced up when she heaved a great sigh and yanked out a crumpled cigarette carton.

 

“I don’t suppose you have any Woodbines eh?” She asked with a heavy East London accent, waving the crushed box around. Steve figured it must have been smushed under the weight of the typewriter the woman had been lugging around in her shoulder bag.

 

She shook her head. “Sorry I don’t-”

 

“Oooh another American,” The woman grinned, attempting to straighten a ruined cigarette by rolling it between her fingers. Tobacco flakes fell across her desk. “Last bird who had your desk was from New York too. Is that what it takes to get a seat by the window?”

 

“Uh,” Steve shifted, “I can trade with you if you’d rather-“

 

“Nah I’m just taking the piss out ya don’t worry,” The blond waved her hand dismissively before growling and crushing the cigarette in her fist, giving it up as a lost cause. “Forget it! I’ll just go filch another box from the supply room.” She went to go, glancing over her shoulder at Steve with a harried look. “Can you pretend you didn’t hear that?”

 

“No problem.” Steve said, bemused. She watched as the whirlwind of a girl passed into the hallway before squinting at the now empty desk. After a moment she sighed and turned back to her paperwork. Damn but French was still a struggle even after weeks of studying.

 

“I’m Betsy by the way.” Steve jumped, glancing over at the reoccupied desk. Betsy was taking a drag from a newly acquired cigarette and leaning back in her chair.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said slowly. “I’m Stevie.”

 

“Stevie,” Betsy shook her head and let loose a warm laugh. “You yanks have the strangest names.”

 

“Almost as bad as that Brit accent.” Steve joked, unsure but willing to go with it.

 

“Oh, I like you!” Betsy laughed again. “You’ve got spunk, I can see why…” She trailed off with a curse as her cigarette burnt down to the filter. “Ah, shite these things always go too fast.” She pulled another one out of the carton and lit it using the remnants of her first, blowing out a puff of smoke. A frazzled looking man stopped by her desk and handed her a file. Betsy thanked him with a wink and began reading, muttering to herself. Steve was too afraid to ask her what she’d been about to say.

 

 

 

*

 

The female SOE quarters were in a boarding house down the street from the home office. Steve’s unit took up the entire 6th floor of a nondescript brick building. All the doors were painted a vibrant green, and the letters of their last names were emblazoned in brass just below the peephole. Across the hall from Steve was the name placard **B.** nailed into the wood. Steve’s own **R.** stared back at her fondly. To her left roomed **L.** and Betsy was to her right with **W.**

 

“Betsy West is me. Lois is the gal to your right, and B across the hall is one of the best, so she ain’t here often. Yank like you though,” Betsy offered all this information as they headed down the narrow hallway to their rooms.

 

Steve laughed, unlocking her door. “Thanks for showing me around today Betsy.”

 

“No problem Rogers,” Betsy winked, “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

 

Inside the apartment was cozy, wide reading seats lined the big windows. The little kitchen nook was lit up with the evening sunlight, bathing the green tiles in a friendly glow. Steve took a moment to throw her bag down in an armchair, going to sit on one of the plush cushions lining the window seat. She pulled her journal out from its hidey-hole under a throw and opened a blank page to write.

 

 

*****

_June 1943_

_Bucky,_

_Don’t freak out but Peg set me up with a new job. I didn’t much like traveling place to place so often and living out of my ma’s old suitcase. Now I’m working with a branch of peggy’s company, and have since relocated to London. Please, please I know you’re probably pulling your hair out right now but Bucky I’m fine I promise._

_Isn’t it funny that I’m in the same city you were in just a few months ago? Maybe eventually I’ll catch up to you wherever you are. I’ve given your Ma my forwarding address so just keep sending your letters there. I’m trying not to worry but goddamnit buck I wish I would hear from you already_

_steve_

 

  

*

Steve wandered through the quaint streets, letting the feel of the city pass over her; soaking in the different sounds and smells. After classes let out for the day she popped into different cafes that caught her fancy: little tea shops with all sorts of flavors she had never heard of, clothing stores with fancy dresses that made her chest hurt to look at and used book stores packed to the gills with towers of novels.

 

The bookshop was her favorite place to go when she had the time. She’d wander through its cramped aisles, running her fingers over the spines of the tomes, smelling the scent of old paper and ink, thinking about Bucky. It seemed like kismet that her hand stopped on Cummings.

 

 

*

 

Steve jerked awake to the shrill sound of sirens ringing in her ears. For a moment she sat on the edge of her bed, trying to catch her breath confused and thinking her tinnitus had come back. Then she threw on a robe and some socks, nearly tripping over an umbrella stand with her urgency to make it to the hallway. Lois was just closing her own door and wrapping a dark purple robe around her nightgown. Betsy was standing further down the hall in her slippers, waiting for them with a worn out look.

 

“Steve,” Lois said yawning and glancing over, “Prêt à partir? We have to head to the basement, quick.”

 

“Bip bip bip,” Betsy led the way through the winding halls down to the stone cellar. It was moderately packed with other residents, their pale drawn faces and looking to each other for comfort. As Steve went to sit on a stone outcropping, there was a far off echoing boom, and the ceiling rattled, dust falling from the beams.

 

Lois tilted her head, “That one was pretty far,” She said after a moment. “Usually they-“ The walls seemed to move as a much louder boom, like discordant thunder, resonated through the room. A heavier wave of dust coated them from above.

 

“-are more like that,” Lois finished, coughing. Steve gave her a shaky grin, heart pounding in her throat.

 

By the time Betsy nudged her, letting her know they could head back up, an hour had passed and Steve was dozing with her head tilted back against the damp stone.

 

“Night gals,” Steve went into her dark apartment and stood for a moment disoriented. Her ears were still ringing in a high pitch. Shuffling over to the windows, she looked outside. On the horizon she could see the far-off orange tinge that meant fire, casting the buildings into sharp silhouettes. Thick plumes of smoke rose into the night sky. It was a few long moments before she sighed and went into the bathroom.

 

Squinting at herself in the mirror she could see her hair was coated in a fine layer of dust. She looked like a phantom of herself. Steve stared for a long time before moving to turn on the tap.

 

*****

_June 1943_

_Heard my first bomb siren last night. Buck god why didn’t you tell me how- I imagined what you must hav- I miss you so fucking bad and i-_

_Remember that time we rode the train all day? It was a Sunday I think, god it must have been six or seven years ago now. we couldn’t decide where we wanted to get off so we sat in the car and you made up stories about the passengers._

_There was that older woman, sitting by herself with a bouquet of flowers. Poppies, I remember. Visiting her father’s grave, you said. He died in the great war. The little boy who bumped into us and took off his hat in apology._

_He’s in love with a girl for the first time, you laughed. I wanted to say: me too._

_I should have. Goddamn it buck, I should have. I’m a fool_

_(unsent)_

 

*

July in London was kinder than in New York. New York was inundated with humidity but London’s rains were cooling and helped to keep the smell of city garbage at bay. Steve spent long hours busy with her nose pressed in her textbooks, practicing her shooting on the range, learning to throw the ostentatious shield that Peggy had given her with a roll of her eyes and a “compliments of Stark”. In her slim free hours she read from the library of books in her apartment, or drew and wrote in her notebook.

 

As the days passed, Steve grew closer to her hall mates. Lois and Betsy often dragged her after a long day of training to a pub down the street. It never ceased to amaze her the way life flourished despite the perpetual threat of the blitz that hung around their necks like an albatross.

 

 

*

 

Other nights it wasn’t the sirens that woke her. Sometimes she’d gasp herself awake in the dark, Bucky’s scent in her nose and a fierce wet ache between her thighs. She was so hungry in those moments, hand drifting down to touch herself, mouth opening against the pillowcase as if somehow she could bring the smell of gardenias deep inside. She wasn’t proud as she panted, fervently pressing her hips against her palm and moving her fingers in a toe clenching rhythm. But she couldn’t stop.

 

God, she imagined the worst things in those moments: that it was Bucky rubbing against her clit and telling her how pretty she was, how Bucky’s breasts had bounced as she ground her hips down against Steve, the way she gasped, the sweet shape of her mouth and how red it got from kissing. She imagined that Bucky was underneath her again legs spread, that the smell of gardenia was the taste of Bucky’s sweet pink cunt, that she’d be wet down the insides of her creamy thighs, that if Bucky arched Steve could move her tongue over her swollen clit-

 

She felt sick to her stomach afterwards. Whatever had passed between them that night, it was clear Bucky had thought it was a mistake and wanted to put it behind her.

 

“No more,” Steve panted to herself in the dark. It was the promise she made every time.

 

*

Steve’s first time driving was up to the Scottish highlands. Lois was her navigator and Peggy and Betsy rode in the backseat pointing out landmarks to each other and playing eye-spy. It was a nerve-wracking trip: Steve stalled out a few times along the A1 and struggled to adjust to the narrower roads in the north.

 

The highlands were like walking on a strange planet; verdant and stark, strange shaped mountains rising out of the mist like the ancient creatures from Steve’s science books; monoliths cresting the fog as whales breached the sea. It was breathtaking with wide skies. Steve feel like something in her chest was cracking open when she stared at the horizon.

 

The parachuting school was situated in a chateau that oozed of old money. Kindly donated to the war effort by some Lord and put to use almost immediately by the SOE, it was both lovely in its grandeur and somehow lonesome sprawled out on an empty estate.

 

Steve often wandered the mirrored hallways late at night. She trailed through the portrait rooms, staring up into the faces of strangers who had been dead for hundreds of years. Most of the house didn’t have wiring, and the sparse candles cast the place in an eerie glow. Shadows seemed deeper, more sinister. The wind rattled against the windows like a mournful ghost.

 

*

During the day she had little time to muse on much but wind direction, demolitions, triangulation, radio operation, gun maintenance, hand to hand, the language classes she was immersed in and things of that nature. The sheer amount of information that she was cramming into her brain often made her head spin. She was grateful for the cheerful company of her other two team members. Of course there were other people there, Steve estimated at least 80 at any given time, but they mostly kept to their own groups.

 

Lois and Betsy were on her trio drop team: Betsy manned the radio and Lois was an officer in La Résistance who had smuggled herself out on an old steamer eleven months prior. Peggy always seemed to be tied up in admin meetings concerning things way above Steve’s pay grade so she didn’t spend much time with them although she would occasionally pop by during teatime to chat.

 

Routine caused the two weeks of parachute training to fly by and soon enough her team plus Peggy were driving down to Milton Hall for final preparations.

 

 

*

 

“- Which nobody can deny, which nobody can deny, for she’s a jolly good fellooooow which nobody can deny!” The girls broke out into cheers, catcalling and whooping. Steve buried her face in her hands with embarrassment.

 

“Come on love, drink up!” Someone, probably Betsy, pushed a pint against her elbow. “Yer an old lady now!”

 

“I’m 25,” Steve griped, but she took the pint and downed a few gulps, swallowing at the bitter aftertaste with an unusually tight throat. “Be cheerful.” She ordered herself, softly.

 

“Wotcher,” And that was definitely Betsy now, drunk as a skunk and leaning too far over the table in an attempt to pour Steve more beer from a pitcher. One of her eyes was pinched shut in concentration, her tongue sticking out the side her mouth. Her red hair, which had started the night out in a perfectly coiffed up do, was a mess around her face.

 

“Thanks Betsy,” Steve helped her hold the pitcher steady. The girl gave her a saucy wink and fell back in her chair.

 

“Cheers,” She held up her drink, wobbly, then downed it.

 

“Aw Stevie, I had just gone to get you another,” Peggy sidled up next to her, pressing through the crowd of people in the pub. Someone nearby started to sing a bawdy song and Peggy looked like she was trying hard not to roll her eyes.

 

“Sorry Peg, I got to ‘er first!” Betsy shouted, jumping up from her chair as Lois came round with some sort of fizzy drink in her hand. She was so unsteady the drink kept tipping, spilling liquor down her wrist.

 

“je suis beurré,” Lois was repeating over and over again, giggling to the room at large as she tapped a finger to her nose. “mais…I cannot stop.”

 

“Someone’s gonna hate themselves tomorrow,” Steve asided to Peggy, watching as Betsy tried to steer Lois to her stool. They were like two drunken cats, each trying to lead the other. Steve sighed and moved to help them.

 

“Merci,” Lois gasped out, laughing into her drink. Her face was flushed almost as red as whatever it was she was imbibing. Betsy put her forehead on the table.

 

“Alright, I think we’re done here.” Peggy laughed, shaking her head. Steve could tell even she was a little drunk.

 

“Noooo Stevie’snot…Stevie…did I just say Stevie snot? I…” Betsy clapped her hands. “Stevie’s not got enough so we can’t go Pegs.”

 

“I’ve had plenty,” Steve said dryly, refusing to surrender even as the two girls tried to coerce her – as much as two extremely intoxicated people could – to drink more. Eventually, she and Peggy managed to manhandle them out of the pub and down the road to the estate.

 

In the darkness, Milton Hall was lit up from the inside and it glowed like something from a dream. As Steve walked up the gravel drive, she rubbed at a sudden ache in her sternum.

 

 

*

 

_July 1943_

_Second birthday I’ve spent without you buck and I don’t like the feeling much. 25 now aren’t we? I feel so old most days. The gals at the office, plus peggy, took me out for a pint to celebrate._

_Buck, I’m going away for a little bit but I’ll be back soon. My thoughts are with you always. Please be safe. Please._

_love_

_Steve_

 

_*_

 

 

“You’re meeting our contact there,” Peggy told her one night a couple of weeks after her birthday. They were high above the French countryside, squinting at each other in the darkness of the plane. “When you land, walk towards the old barn. There should be a camp pack hidden in one of the rafters for you. The papers in your bag are good for three so if you run into a check point-“

 

“Just smile and bat my eyes and let Lois do the talking,” Steve sighed, fiddling with the straps of her parachute. “Yes Peggy.”

 

“It doesn’t hurt to double check these things,” Peggy said primly, but she was smiling. She looked back towards the cockpit and the pilot signaled to her. “Right, you ready to go?”

 

Lois and Betsy were waiting by the big doors, parachutes on. Betsy was doing some last minute radio adjustments. They both nodded as Steve walked over.

 

 

*

The field was quiet but for the sounds of crickets. Steve, Lois and Betsy crouched in the tall grass for some long minutes after landing. Steve held her breath and listened to her heart race in the dark.

 

“Looks clear,” Betsy breathed finally, near silent. They moved as one towards the barn.

*

In the end, it was Gustav who found them.

 

He was a tall fair-haired man with cheerful eyes. He was also an outrageous flirt. Bucky would have loved him.

 

“And we French have the best wine. Ask Lois she will agree.” Gustav was a chain smoker; Steve never saw him without a cigarette between his fingers. “I would love to introduce you to them personally.”

 

“Ah, well I’m not a big drinker I’m afraid.” Steve tucked her hair behind her ears, still looking through the files on Gustav’s messy desk.

 

“Oh we can change that ma chérie,” Gustav winked but then his face grew serious. “but thank you, the radio equipment will be put to good use.”

 

Steve held up a hand, “Say no more.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Gustav was rifling through his desk now too muttering something about pertinent information. Steve glanced around his cluttered office while he opened and closed drawers. The room was small, bricked, thick tapered candles instead of electric lights creating a welcoming ambiance.

 

“Ah-here we are,” He cut through her thoughts. “This is what the Queen was looking for, yes?” He spread it out, using a fist-sized rock to hold down one corner. Steve came closer and took in the marks with her heart pounding.

 

“How did you find this?” She asked, impressed.

 

Gustav winked, “We French always find a way.”

 

 

*

“You should have seen this place five years ago,” Lois said in French, quiet around a cigarette. “It was so different. Everything now is,” She exhaled, smoke curling around her face. “I don’t know. Dark.” She put out the cigarette. Her sleek bob gleamed in the light of the cafe.

 

“Maybe I’ll come back someday,” Steve sighed. Weeks in France and she could see herself never tiring of the country. It seemed like something was asleep in its breast; freedom, waiting like a dozing bird to awaken another day. “you know, after.”

 

Lois made a face, eyes casually scanning the room for their contact. “After,” She said softly. “That would be something. Ah, there he is. With the scarf, by the window.”

 

Steve gave a glance out of the corner of her eye and then immediately regretted it. She huffed under her breath, “of course” amused to her chagrin.

 

 

*

 

“Stevie Rogers as I live and breathe,” Howard Stark had managed to remain quiet until they’d reached the safe house but now his excitement seemed to burst out of him. Betsy and Lois were giving her arching looks from the couch, both having readily accepted a martini from Stark who was standing by the bar swirling his own drink. “Vita ray suits you.”

 

“How long you been keeping that one in your back pocket?” Steve waved off the drink, and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

 

“You don’t want to know,” He downed the rest of his drink and refilled it.

 

“Vita ray?” Betsy asked, raising her eyebrow.

 

“It’s classified,” She sighed, raising the glass to her forehead to soak in the coolness.

 

“Pfffft,” Betsy waved her hand, kicking back her drink.

 

“Intriguing,” Lois had kicked off her shoes, stocking feet crossed. “Bet I could find those files.”

 

“Guys,” Steve protested, turning to frown at them.

 

“No worries Stevie, we’re just takin the piss.” Betsy laughed. She waved her empty glass at Howard. “Stark my cup is thirsty.”

 

“Ah can’t keep the lovely West waiting,” Howard winked at Steve, strolling back towards the bar. Steve rolled her eyes and leaned back against the sink.

 

*

Howard spent a long time bent over the map, hemming and hawing to himself. Eventually, even Steve fell asleep in the small armchair and woke up to the first rays of grey light with a crick in her neck.

 

Howard and the girls looked up from where they’d been crowded over the counter, teacups in their hands.

 

Steve cleared away the sleep from her throat, “What’s going on?”

 

“I gotta get this to Boss right away,” Howard looked uncharacteristically grey. “don’t suppose-“

 

“Sure,” Steve wandered over towards the percolator. “Count me in.”

 

*

Steve parted ways with Lois and Betsy on the Italian border.

 

“Stay safe,” Betsy gave her a hard hug. There were tears clogging her voice.

“You too Betsy.” Steve squeezed her shoulders and then moved to Lois to do the same.

 

“I’ll see you after,” The girl said softly, as they pulled apart. “yes?”

 

Steve laughed, trying not to feel overcome. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I look forward to it.”

 

*

 

Traveling with Howard was weird. The man somehow managed to be completely overt without drawing any sort of unwanted attention.

 

Italy was on the cusp of an internal revolution and it showed. Soldiers at the checkpoints seemed apathetic to French travel, village inns opened their doors to them without question, when they did spot any German soldiers they always looked harried and preoccupied.

 

“It’s almost too easy,” Steve complained, lying on her back on one of the beds listening to Howard putter around in the bathroom. “You’d think they’d be more suspicious of strangers.”

 

“I look and speak Italian and you’re about as Aryan as they come,” Howard strolled out of the bathroom in a robe so busy it made Steve’s eyes hurt. “They have bigger fish to fry; they’re country is falling apart. That’s fascism for ya.”

 

“Mmmm,” Steve yawned. “When you’re done primping can you hit the lights?”

 

“…Primping?!”

 

 

*

 

Peggy was waiting for them in the command tent, when they drove into camp a few days later.

 

“Stevie you made it,” They hugged. Steve was so surprised she could have been knocked down with a feather.

 

“What no hug for me?” Howard held out his arms. Peggy rolled her eyes, but relented and gave him a pat on the back.

 

“Map for me?” She asked when she pulled away.

 

 

*

“So was this your plan the whole time?” Steve asked after they’d given report and Howard and wandered off to find some “drink and women and food” in that order.

 

“Recent development,” Peggy took a breath and then spoke slowly, not looking up from the map. “Ah, Angie’s here by the way.”

 

“Angie?” Steve gawped. “What with the girls?”

 

“Yup,” Peggy popped her ‘p’. She glanced up finally. “You should go find her, I know she’d love to catch up. I’ll be along shortly I just have a few more things to review.”

 

“Will do,” Steve headed out. “Take it easy Pegs, you look tired.”

 

Peggy didn’t respond, already bent back over her work.

 

*

 

It took a while but finally Steve spotted a familiar fair head amongst the gaggle of women and headed over.

 

“Angie, is that you?” Steve called out.

 

Angie turned, “Stevie!” She grinned, excusing herself from the other girls. She ran across the mud and gave Steve a hearty hug.

 

“Aw Angie, I’m gonna get your dress all dirty,” Steve said, hugging her back. Angie’s hugs always reminded her of her ma’s; strong and sure.

 

“Pssh, this old thing, probably would be the best thing that could happen to it at this point.” Angie pulled back, still smiling. “Look at ya Stevie, I almost didn’t recognize you in those pants. You look swell!”

 

Steve laughed, blushing. “Thanks. Any of the same old group with ya? I didn’t realize you’d moved overseas.”

 

“Yea, they moved us over here a few weeks ago. Still got a coupla’ originals tagging along for the ride. We’ve been moving from camp to camp doing what we can.” Angie’s face grew solemn. “We’re doing a show for the 107th today.”

 

“Sure,” Steve nodded. It took a minute before it hit her. “Wait, what did you say?”

 

 

*****

 

It was funny how Peggy’s dark hair bent over files in the command tent gave Steve a feeling of dread. Less than an hour before she had been elated.

 

Peggy tilted her chin up from her files, looking unsurprised at Steve barging into her tent. “Just ask me what you want to ask me,” She demanded, pen pinched between her fingers.

 

“You knew?” Steve clenched her jaw. “Of course you knew. Peggy how could-“

 

“The only way to stop it,” Peggy’s voice was tired now, fight leached out of her like a bone bleaching white under the desert sun. “Is to win the war.” She sounded like she’d made this argument many times before, like she was talking to herself.

 

“What about-“ Bucky, _my_ Bucky. Steve didn’t say, but she knew the look on her face spoke volumes. Peggy’s eyes were sad.

 

“I don’t know Stevie, truly.” She rubbed her eyes. “She’s strong. She might still be alive. We’ll do some recon, find out what-”

 

“I’m going.”

 

“I know.” Peggy stood. “I know you are.”

 

“You’ll say bye to Angie for me, won’t you?” Steve asked after she had gathered enough wits to speak. Peggy reached across the desk to take her hand.

 

“She’s not leaving until the morning, you can say goodbye to her yourself.”

 

*

They spent the next week gathering intel. Steve’s German wasn’t the best but Peggy’s was damn near perfect. They’d dressed up in local garb, pretending to be cousins looking for a missing relative. Not uncommon these days.

 

“Azzano,” The man shook his head, left eye twitching. He was the third local they had questioned who seemed scared out of their minds at the mention of the camp. “That is a bad place. You don’t want to go there.”

 

From her position at Peggy’s back, Steve eyed the treeline distrustfully with her hand on her hip. She had a hidden gun in a holster under her arm, out of sight beneath a coat.

 

“Extermination,” The man’s voice wavered, “You don’t want to go there.”

 

“Tell me where,” Peggy spoke slowly, in German. “Which way?”

 

The man gripped his cap between jittering fingers. “North,” He rasped out finally. “Towards the mountains. There are- there is smoke. You will see.” He fell silent, wringing his hat.

 

*

“The base is tucked along the mountainside about 80 kilometers from here,” Steve ran her finger along the map. It was late at night now on day three of recon and she felt like a thousand ants were running around under her skin. Every moment not moving was a moment wasted. “You wouldn’t be able to see it from the air, but the locals report dark smoke plumes originating around here.”

 

Howard folded his arms, “So what are you thinking?” He brought his hand up to rub at his mouth. The three of them were holed up in Peggy’s tent, circled around a table. The air was rich with the smell of rain.

 

“Well,” Steve sighed, glancing over at Peggy who gave her a knowing look. “Something crazy.”

 

“Perfect,” Howard grinned roguishly. “I love crazy.”

 

*

“This is a little more crazy than what I had in mind,” Howard yelled over the roar of the engines. The plane jerked into an abrupt ascent as the ping of artillery fire slammed against the metal sides.

 

“You have the radio,” Peggy shouted, “When you get her out, contact our frequency and we’ll try to send someone to rendezvous with you. No promises but-” The plane shuddered. “But I’ll do my best.”

 

“I know you will, Peg.” Steve moved to the back hatch to slam a fist on the button that released the doors.

 

“Don’t wait for me - as soon as I jump, you turn this plane around and get the hell outta here!” Steve snapped out over her shoulder attempting to be heard over the roaring wind. The plane’s belly yawed open to a lurid scene of dark clouds, flashes of artillery and the sizzling whistle of heavy shells. Well, Hydra knew they were there that much was for sure. As her hair whipped around her face despite the helmet, she could pick up the acrid smell of metal and winter. Her breath was tight in her chest.

 

“You’re fucking insane!” Howard was shouting, hands bloodless around the yoke. Between him and Steve stood Peggy, legs braced and holding onto a strap of crash webbing that lined the interior of the plane. Her mouth was pinched, but she managed a steady nod when Steve glanced over.

 

Taking a last deep breath Steve let go and fell into the precipice, into hell. The icy wind screamed around her with an eerily human howl, biting into her cheeks mercilessly. She could see sparks of bright light through the thunderheads, gunfire flashing like lightning, but she couldn’t hear the cacophony of the bombs above the all-encompassing squall.

 

The cold took her mind strange places: back to the cold winter of 38’ and Bucky singing into her good ear, _j’attendrai le jour et la nuit._ The warmth of her hands cupping the clammy sick of Steve’s own and her curls haloed against the oil lamp, dark lipstick so akin to Peggy’s smeared across her mouth.

 

 _Hold on for me,_ Steve thought, as if Bucky could hear her voice through the fire. _Just hold on Buck, I’m coming._

_*_

 

She used the tree coverage to break her fall and then oriented herself under the cover of darkness. She figured she was some 14-16 kilometers away from the base, due east. As she made her way closer, sprinting through the underbrush like the devil was on her heels, she could just make out the silhouettes of patrolling guards along the ridgeline.

 

She paused in the shadow of the treeline, crouching down behind a fallen pine. She counted 15 maybe 20 pacing men, dark helmets covering their faces, strange guns held aloft.

 

“Right,” She whispered to herself, pulling the shield off from where it was strapped on her back. She took a steadying breath. “Let’s go.”

 

*

Inside Azzano the walls seemed to crowd down around her, dank and damp with the smell of packed unwashed bodies. The stench of fear permeated the place, oozing out of the very stone. She ran through the hallways, dispatching the soldiers she came upon with brutal efficiency. Eventually, the hallway opened up into a large warehouse type room. It took Steve a moment to realize that what she was looking at were a series of cages, and inside there were people: thin wraiths crying, rocking silently, staring out into the darkness.

 

“Christ,” She faltered for a moment, before sprinting to the first cell.

 

*

In every cell she liberated she asked the same thing, looked into every face, swallowed back the fear that threatened to choke her. Finally someone perked up at Bucky’s name.

 

“Yea, Barnes right? I remember her. She got real sick with lung fever.” One of the girls said, voice hoarse. She stood up amongst the other prisoners and wrapped grubby hands around the bars. “They took her away a few days ago.”

 

“Where?” Steve could barely breathe.

 

“To the pit downstairs,” a man mumbled, eyes bleak as he met Steve’s own. “The experimental ward you understand, ja? They only leave through der schornstein when they go down that way.”

 

Steve was starkly reminded of the pluming smoke she’d seen from the forest. The back of her neck broke out into a cold sweat. With numb hands she lifted her shield and brought it down against the rusty lock until it gave way.

 

“Bon courage,” another girl called out as Steve turned to run. “B saved my life. I hope you find her.”

 

*

Time was a strangely subjective thing. Steve could recall bright periods of her life where it flew past: Bucky and her playing stick ball, her ma teaching her how to knit, and darker moments where everything seemed to slow down to a molasses crawl: her ma fading away caught in the throes of tuberculosis, waking up to an empty bed the morning Bucky left.

 

When she first saw Bucky’s body, grey and washed out against the overhead lights she felt keenly the sharp shadows of the night. Everything stopped.

 

*

It was daybreak by the time they made it out. Hordes of them standing watch as the fire burned high. Bucky felt like a ghost at her side, and Steve couldn’t tear her eyes away. The other girl was staring at the flames, face drawn. Then she looked up and their eyes met. Steve’s heart fluttered in her throat.

 

“B, Christ we thought you were a goner!” Bucky turned away, towards the woman who had hollered at her. A group of five girls were now taking turns hugging an increasingly haggard looking Bucky. One of them, Steve realized abruptly, was the prisoner who had wished her good luck.

 

“Nearly was,” Bucky said hoarsely, accepting the slaps on the back with gritted teeth. She glanced towards Steve. “Guys this here’s Stevie. She’s my best girl, the one who dragged my sorry ass outta the pit.”

 

“Heavy ass to drag that,” The woman in the bowler hat quipped, holding her hand out towards Steve. “Names Dum Dum, and yes you heard that right. This here’s Jackie, Jill, Monty and Gaby,” She motioned last towards the familiar girl who gave Steve a wide grin.

 

And that was how Steve met the Howling Commandos.

 

 

*

It took four hours of marching before Bucky could be convinced to take a break in a truck and even then Steve had to say she was the one who needed to sit down.

 

“Just for an hour or two,” Steve said, leaning back against the wall of the truck. She pulled off her helmet, and ran her hands through her sweaty hair.

 

Bucky sat across the way from her in silence, wrapped her arms around her knees and stared blankly out the back of the truck. She hadn’t bothered to wipe her face and there was dirt smeared black across her cheeks. Steve ached to brush her hair back, to hold her close.

 

Instead she sighed and shut her eyes, exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. Days probably. Their convoy was slowly creeping back towards the Italian border.

 

“You look different,” Bucky’s voice came to her, soft as a good dream. Through her lashes, Steve could see she was still gazing outside. “What happened?”

 

Steve dared to stretch her legs out, holding her breath as their feet brushed. Steve relished the warm pressure of Bucky’s leg against her own. She waited until finally, finally Bucky met her eyes. They were beautiful but bleak, like the winter sky back home.

 

“I got sick Buck,” Steve said quietly. “Real sick, ‘bout a year ago now I guess it musta been. I wrote you but...I had a feeling it never reached you.” She had wondered about her letters and where they ended up. Were they lost in some filing cabinet halfway across the world never to be recovered? Had they been redirected back to Brooklyn, even now waiting for them safe in Winifred’s little foyer desk?

 

Bucky watched her, face pinched. “No I never heard. And?”

 

“And,” Steve shrugged, nudging Bucky’s foot gently. “I started working with the SOE. You know me; I never know when to quit. Just keep standing up.”

 

“Standing up,” Bucky said, nearly inaudible. Her eyes had drifted away again to the outside. “Sure.”

*

After Steve gave her report to an irate Colonel Philips and a smug Peggy Carter, she headed towards the medical tents searching for Bucky only to be told by a frazzled looking nurse she’d never checked in. Discontent, Steve wandered towards the mess and raked her gaze across the canteen, catching site of Jill and Monty at one of the packed tables.

 

“How’s the food?” She asked, walked up to them. Jill was scooping soup into her mouth like it was her day job.

 

“Best thing I’ve tasted in weeks,” Monty replied, chewing on a piece of bread. “Course considering I been in a prison camp, that’s probably not sayin’ much.” Jill didn’t bother pausing her slurping, just hummed in agreement.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Steve didn’t really know how to respond. “Uh, have you seen Bucky around lately?”

 

“Think she said something about wondering who she had to kill to get a shower,” Monty shrugged, poking at a piece of questionable meat.

 

The showers were on the other side of their makeshift base. If Steve hurried maybe she could catch Bucky before she left them.

 

“Great, thanks gals.”

 

“Hey a coupla us are playing cards later,” Jill had finished her soup and was wiping the bottom of the bowl with a heel of bread. “You should join us. Drag B along with ya if you can.”

 

“Sounds swell,” Steve nodded, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

 

*

 

She stopped by her own tent to grab a change of clothes. It had been days since she’d last bathed and she suddenly realized she reeked and was covered in a fine coat of grime. Also it was best to come armed with an excuse, although she doubted Bucky would be fooled by her coincidentally showing up.

 

The showers were inside an almost lean-to ramshackle building of wood and metal. Most of the little stalls were empty but she could hear running water coming from the back of the building.

 

“Buck?” She called out, when she reached the occupied curtain.

 

“Steve, that you?” Bucky’s voice was quiet beneath the sound water.

 

“Ya, I figured I could use a shower myself.” Steve stripped quickly, piled her things on one of the long benches and stepped into the next stall, turning on the water and gritting her teeth at the freezing temperature. She soaped up, washing as quickly as possible, ears peeled for any indication that Bucky would run from her.

 

Bucky’s shower turned off, and Steve listened to the slow movements of her drying and dressing. She turned off her own spigot and wrapped herself in a towel, pushing the curtain open. Buck was sitting in a loose shirt and trousers, wet hair pulled back. She was contemplating her hands and glanced up at Steve and then away. Steve swallowed heavily at the dark bruising speckling her skin.

 

“You ever gonna tell me what really happened?” Bucky asked, as Steve went to her pile of clothing. Steve took off her towel to change, glancing up and catching the tail end of another look she couldn’t decipher.

 

Steve sighed and moved to sit down next to the other girl. “I was dying Buck,” She said softly. “There was a project going on with a branch of the SOE that Peggy was working with. Project Rebirth. I signed up for it.”

 

Bucky rubbed her face with her hands. “You were just as much a lab rat as I was then,” She whispered to her palms, dismayed.

 

“Buck, no. I consented. They - they saved me. What happened to you was,” Steve’s throat closed. She clenched her fists in her lap uselessly. “Was unforgivable.”

 

Buck looked like a kicked dog as she turned her face away towards the showers. “Weren’t you always the one sayin’ you didn’t need saving Stevie?”

 

“Buck, it’s not like that.” Steve’s voice was tight in her throat, strained like she was coming down with a cold. “They’re not like that.” she wondered whom she was trying to convince.

 

Bucky was still for a long moment and then she nodded. When she finally turned around the look in her eyes made Steve’s breath catch jagged in her chest.

 

“I hope so, Steve.” She said eventually, her voice bleak like she didn’t believe it. “I really do.”

 

 

*

 

The brass deferred to her. They kind of had to. It wasn’t everyday a lone woman walked into a Hydra work camp and liberated it. And so Steve formed herself a team of ragtag women that called themselves the Howling Commandos. They were gonna hunt down Schmidt and Zola and take out as many Hydra as they could in the mean time.

 

“Why howling?” Peggy asked, over a beer. It was a few weeks or so after Azzano, and they were all out for a much needed respite. Steve had suggested a bar that she had frequented during her SOE training with Betsy and Lois.

 

“Because we’re so damn loud!” Dum Dum shouted from across the bar. “Ma’am.” She tipped her bowler hat. Jill and Gaby were cackling into their drinks.

 

“It was er, a group decision apparently?” Steve offered, as Peggy raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s brilliant,” Peggy assured, tapping her finger against the rim of her glass. Although she was eye catching in her bright red dress, Steve felt her gaze trailing towards Bucky who had sequestered herself at the other end of the bar and was steadily draining glasses of whiskey like it was her sole purpose in life. She’d managed to avoid being alone with Steve since their talk in the showers.

 

“Why don’t you go over there and talk to her? She looks like she could use you.”

 

Steve turned back towards her pint, caught out. “If she wanted to talk to me, she’d be over here. Where’d you get the dress? S’nice.”

 

“Clever segue,” Peggy said dryly. “And thank you. Angie gave it to me actually, back when the girls were in California.”

 

“You think she’s in France now?” Steve wondered aloud.

 

Peggy took a sip of her beer. “Arrived safe as of three days ago,” She said, draining the glass. She put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Now, I’m going to go make your Howlies buy me a pint. Go talk to your girl.”

 

“She’s not my girl.” Steve whispered to Peggy’s departing back. After a moment she sighed and turned to look towards Bucky’s corner. The girl was still there, working her way through a new drink. Steve took a moment to brace herself before walking over.

 

“Hey Buck,” The other girl looked worse from up close; face sallow, brilliant eyes dull with exhaustion.

 

“Heya Stevie,” She greeted. The smile she cast Steve looked stretched across her skin. “You talkin to Peggy?”

 

“Ya,” Steve sat on one of the rickety stools and turned her half empty pint in her hands.

 

“She’s looking swell as ever,” Bucky kicked back the last of her whiskey and signaled to the barkeep with two fingers.

 

“Yea- heya Buck I think you’ve had enough,” Steve said softly, reaching out with a hesitant hand to brush at Bucky’s sleeve.

 

“Not nearly enough,” she heard Bucky mutter to herself, taking a drink. Before Steve could comment she was clearing her throat. “So, I thought you said you were a jedburgh but that,” She pointed with her chin at a faded poster on the wall, “says otherwise.”

 

“Er,” Steve flushed. “Well I thought you were a secretary.”

 

“I _was_ a secretary,” Bucky smirked. “Among other things. Don’t think I forgot that fancy getup you were wearing either,” There was a hint of her old self, glimmering in her eyes. “You keepin’ the outfit?”

 

Steve choked out a laugh, a strange sadness welling up inside of her. Here they were so far from home, the two of them. Still together despite it all; still standing.

 

*

The first base they took out as a team almost ended in disaster. Jackie’s sticky bomb failed to detonate against the outer defense wall. Steve waited as long as she dared before gritting her teeth and signaling to move in.

 

Thank god for Bucky, who had shimmied up a tree some 40 yards away and was shooting down hydra agents like fish in a barrel.

 

Three minutes into the skirmish, Jackie’s bomb went off and Steve was knocked flat on her ass. For a few moments the world went funny, then Steve was blinking rapidly and scrambling to her feet in a dizzy fury. She spotted a hydra agent shouting and charged, tackling the agent at the knees. After a brief struggle, Steve had the gun and dispatched him.

 

There was more yelling now, strange laser beams of light forcing her to duck and spin, she took out another hydra, then another, then another. Straining her ears she thought she could hear Dum Dum shouting through the haze of debris. She made her way toward the sound and found her with Jill taking shelter against the remains of an outer wall, blood on her face and a dusty hat tilted on her head.

 

“Cap!” Jill shouted when Steve reached them.

 

“Status report,” Steve panted, glancing over the wall towards the trees. They seemed undamaged, thank god.

 

“Saw Jackie and Gaby run towards the entrance,” Dum Dum said, taking a shot with another strange gun. “Monty and Sarge I don’t know.”

 

“Fuck,” Steve spat, shooting a couple of hydra in rapid succession. “We need to get inside.”

 

“They just keep coming Cap. and those guns zap you to nothing,” Jill snarled, eyes wild. She had retained her pistol and was reloading it, crouching at their feet.

 

Steve grit her teeth. “Just-“

 

A second explosion ripped through the yard. When the air cleared, the ground was littered with bodies. A whoop erupted through the silence and Jackie ran out into the open holding up a charge.

 

“Did you see that?” She hollered in triumph, arms raised. “Did you see that?”

 

“Yes we saw that, the whole damn world probably saw that,” Bucky’s voice came calling through the trees, “Now get the hell out of open ground and find some cover.” Steve closed her eyes in relief.

 

“Sarge!”

 

Bucky jumped down from one of the trees, face a thundercloud. She stomped towards Steve with her gun at the ready.

 

“Are you insane?” She shouted, dirt from the blast coating her face. “You could have gotten killed Steve! If I hadn’t…” she trailed off heaving a sigh and slung her rifle over her shoulder and glancing around like she was just realizing they weren't in private.

 

Steve held her hands up. “You know me Buck,” She grinned. “I’d loose my head if you weren’t around.”

 

Bucky grumbled, but her face was less strained when she said, “Next time wait for the bomb to go off before moving in.”

 

*

The next base they wiped out went smoother. Jackie’s bomb went off, and they swept through the levels with a brutal efficiency.

 

“See we got this,” Steve panted, rotating her shield arm and trying to shake out a cramp. Bucky was a warm presence at her side.

 

“Yea,” Bucky had to yell over Jackie and Dum Dum’s howls at the piles of ammunition they had recovered. When Steve glanced over at her she was smiling. “Yea maybe we do.”

 

*

Somewhere some kilometers south of Paris they set up watch for the night. Monty and Jill took the first round, heading towards opposite sides of the tree line. Dum Dum fell asleep almost immediately, snoring into her bowler hat. Gaby had kicked her a few times before growling and dragging her sleeping roll as far from the fire as possible. Steve and Bucky found a fallen log to sit on some feet away. They sat together in silence for a while, watching the fire, listening to the sounds of Dum Dum sleeping.

 

Eventually, Steve shifted, conscious suddenly of her pack against her leg.

 

“Hey,” She said softly, hesitant to break the silence but needing to speak. “I found something for you in this old shop in London.” Steve reached into her bag, searching blindly for a moment for the telltale bulk of the book. She found it at the bottom, and held it out to Bucky. The other girl took it with slow hands and dark eyes.

 

As she gingerly unwrapped the paper, a change came over Bucky’s face. Her hands shook as she ran them over the cover. “Steve,” She fanned it open, skimming through the pages. When she looked up again, her eyes were shining in the flickering light of the fire. “You dope, you’ve been carrying this in your bag all this time?”

 

“Of course Buck,” Steve said softly, “I know how much you love this book. I’m only sorry I couldn’t bring the copy from your ma. Think of it as a late birthday present if you want. Or a slightly early Christmas one.”

 

Bucky swallowed, looking back down at the poems. She flipped a few more pages and then paused, reading silently to herself. Steve took that moment of silence to study her. The lighting made Bucky look softer than usual, her pale face luminous and her tired eyes as unknowable as ever. Steve yearned to slide her hands around Bucky’s weary shoulders, to press her face against her hair and lay against her in bed like they used to. Except now, instead of Bucky comforting Steve while she suffered through her phlegmy asthma attacks, it could be Steve holding Bucky...

 

The other girl moved eventually, slow as if waking from a deep sleep. She closed the book, her finger marking the page and lifted her eyes. “Thank you Steve,” She cleared her throat. “This means a lot.”

 

Steve dared to touch her hand. “Don’t thank me Buck,” She whispered and giving in, wrapped her arms around the other girl. “Don’t thank me. I was so, so afraid I’d never see you again.”

 

Bucky’s hands came up slowly until she was clutching suddenly at Steve’s shoulders. Her face pressed into Steve’s neck. It was the first time their skin had touched since that horrible night in Azzano. “I’m here Steve,” She said tiredly. “I’m still here.”

 

*

 

“I don’t see why Gabs gets to drive,” Jackie complained, leaning against the window.

 

“Gabs is the native Parisian,” Steve yawned. “You’re not.”

 

“I’m the better driver,” Jackie grumbled. She said something else in French that Steve didn’t catch. She suspected it was rude. Steve glanced at Bucky, the other girl looked like she was trying not to smile.

 

“Shoulda gone with Dum, Jill and Monty if you wanted to drive.” Gaby quipped.

 

“Yea right and be stuck in a small car with Dum Dum for hours on end? I don’t think so.”

 

*

“Merci mon bel homme,” Gaby winked at the flushing soldier and drove them through the checkpoint. They wove their way north, skirting around the dark gloom of occupied Paris.

 

*

“So, Peggy recruited you huh?” Buck’s voice was sluggish with exhaustion. It was some nights later and they were in a nameless field for the night, building a fire behind the cover of a wrecked airplane.

 

“Hmm.” Steve agreed.

 

“I’m glad. I’m glad she was there for you. You should tell her how you feel you know,” Bucky said quietly. She was lying on her back, staring up at the night sky. The others’ voices came to them faintly from where they were still huddled around the fire. Bucky had moved further into the field to see the stars away from the smoke and Steve, as ever, was helpless to do anything but follow her. “We could die anytime, well-” she sent Steve an unsteady grin, “maybe not you. But still.”

 

“I…what?” Steve’s mind was somehow simultaneously blank and abuzz with static. She felt a swooping in her gut. “Peggy and I aren’t-“

 

“Oh Steve,” Bucky said quietly. “Don’t. I know you…”

 

Steve struggled to breathe her throat was so tight. “What?” She managed to croak out.

 

Bucky motioned with her hands. She was still gazing upwards, but her eyes were unfocused. “That you go for women.” She said softly, letting her hands fall against her stomach.

 

 _Oh God._ Steve thought faintly. _This is happening._

 

“Steve, I’m…I just want you to be happy.” Bucky had her eyes pinched closed now. Against the dark grass, Steve thought she looked like a specter; some fey Viola shipwrecked on a strange land of mud and bone. How did that poem go?

 

Bucky was pale and tired when she finally turned her head to glance up at Steve. “It’s alright,” She murmured, and then she was reaching out to thread Steve’s fingers between her own grubby ones. “I didn’t mean to make you upset…so please don’t be upset Stevie. I…I just want you to be…to be happy. I want that more than anything.”

 

“I am happy,” Steve said inanely, looking down at Bucky’s fingers wrapped around her own. “I…Buck, Peggy and I aren’t like that.” She made herself meet Bucky’s dark eyes. “Truly. She’s my friend.”

 

Bucky didn’t seem convinced but she didn’t say anything to argue the point. Eventually she sat up and pulled her hand away to wrap her arms around her knees. Steve rubbed her fingers together wishing she could capture the lingering warmth left behind.

 

They sat in an off balanced silence, the weight of the air strangely heavy around them. Laughter came from the direction of the fire, and Steve could hear Gaby loudly spouting in French.

 

Some long minutes later Steve asked meekly, “Buck…how did you know?”

 

Bucky dipped her chin to rub her mouth against her arm. “Never saw you much interested in fellas,” her eyes were turned downward, her voice muffled. “And then of course there was…that night.”

 

 _That night_. _Oh._ “Oh.” Steve whispered, mortified.

 

Bucky’s brow furrowed and she turned toward Steve in sudden earnest. “Which was my fault,” Her eyes were wide and luminous against her face. “I’m sorry for it. Hell, I can’t believe I haven’t had the guts to apologize before now. Writing doesn’t count for shit. So much time has passed since then…more than two years now, and I still can’t believe I did that. And I…You’re my best friend Steve. Fuck- nothing is allowed to change that.”

 

Was it possible to feel worse and better simultaneously? Steve managed a wobbly smile, hating the heavy feeling in her chest. “You’re mine too Buck.”

 

That was the most important thing. _But why did you do it Buck?_ She wanted to cry out. _Then why the fuck did you do it?_ All this strength and for what - she wasn’t brave enough to speak. It seemed pointless anyway; Bucky was always one moment from turning away. And she was right, it was so long ago now, so long that the taste of Bucky's mouth had faded in Steve's memory as cherished as it was. But her torch for Buck still burned bright and steadfast.

 

“Good.” Steve watched Bucky swallow, then swallow again. “Good.” She cleared her throat and gave a shaky laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Fuck, look at us. What were we even talking about?”

 

“How much dirtier your mouth has gotten since crossing the Atlantic,” Steve joked weakly.

 

“Har har.” Bucky deadpanned, lying back down. “But seriously Steve. Even if it isn’t Peggy, you deserve to be happy.” Her voice trailed off to a wisp. “Don’t be afraid to be.”

 

“Thanks Buck.” Steve managed to grit out. “You’re a good friend.”

 

Bucky sighed, closing her eyes. “I’m trying.”

 

*

Somewhere in northern France, Bucky finally, finally broke.

 

“I was- I only thought I was back.’ Bucky was mumbling, senselessly. “I wasn’t, it was just a dream I-” She was gulping like a fish out of water and Steve crawled from her bedroll to take her in her arms, struggling to keep her own breaths even and slow.

 

“You’re alright,” She whispered into Bucky’s hair. It was damp and sour with sweat. She could feel the fine shivers that ran through Bucky’s body like she suffered them herself. “I’m here.”

 

What darkness Bucky faced in her mind Steve could only imagine, only draw on her own nightmares of the cesspool of a room, the butcher’s table gleaming under a bright light and Bucky’s closed eyes sunken against a death pallor. She’d seen of course, the cuts on the bottoms of Bucky’s feet, fine lines latticed across each other, the deep bruising along her neck, the strange cored out sections of skin along her sides. The faded needle marks on the inside of her arms. The physical wounds that healed too fast, too clean, for all Steve was glad to see them gone.

 

Bucky, when she’d first realized she was released, had fought like a wild animal surging against Steve’s gentle hands. The lack of recognition in her dilated pupils had sent a spark of fear down Steve’s spine.

 

It had been a fleeting thing, that stranger peering up at her with dark eyes and then there was Bucky again, frightfully weak and gagging in disbelief. Doubt had made her voice thin as a reed. She’d looked at Steve for a moment and Steve had looked at her: at the sharpness of her face so pale in the bowels of hell. She remembered clutching at Bucky’s shoulders and crying, turning her face up towards the ceiling as Bucky stood on coltish legs to thank a God she had never quite convinced herself to believe in. Bucky had said _is it you? I thought…I remembered you were smaller. I remembered you…Steve?_

 

And now here they were, camped at the foot of some forsaken forest that smelt of shit, wet mud and damp earth. How strange Steve mused, that the whole damn world was at war and here it was quiet. The soft sounds of sleep and brush animals rustling, the moon a saucer in the night sky. And Bucky, catching her breath as bravely as anyone Steve had ever known, in her arms.

 

“They did something to me,” Bucky spoke eventually. Her voice wavering in Steve’s ear. “Down in those labs, they changed something inside of me - oh God. Oh God what if I’m like him-“

 

“Shhh you’re not like him, you’ll never be like him.” Steve’s throat felt clogged with tears. She thought about their confrontation with Schmidt and the monster that he was. “Buck, sweetheart you’re safe now, you’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You’re here with me, you’re so brave, and you’re here.”

 

“I’m here,” Bucky repeated, voice strained. “I’m here.”

 

*

 

After that, Bucky seemed calmer somehow. Like that coil that was wound up inside her had loosened. She joked more with the Howlies and the shadow that had hung over her since Azzano seemed lessened. Steve watched her and thought about what she’d said. Bucky was so good at hiding her feelings, so careful to set people at ease, but like a strained seam in a good dress, Steve could see where she was worn thin. Perhaps they’d never find those girls they’d been before war changed them but they’d always have each other.

 

*

 

New Years 1944 was a bleak affair.

 

“I pray this time next year the goddamn war is over,” Jim’s voice was quiet. They were all sitting within feet of each other; on a fallen log, crouched against a tall aspen, kneeling in the snow. None of them could meet each other’s eyes.

 

“1944,” Even Dum Dum’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “Jesus.”

 

Steve felt like she’d been turned inside out herself, but she summoned up traces of a smile. “Take heart ladies. I’ll do the first watch.” She left them to their melancholic musings and wandered deeper into the woods. It was a new moon tonight. Fitting.

 

She found Bucky a quarter of a mile away, staring north out across a snow barren field. Steve knew some 10 kilometers in that direction was the now empty camp. As she got closer, she could see there were fine shivers wracking Bucky’s body.

 

“I don’t understand,” Bucky said after long minutes of silence had passed between them. “How can people do this? To other people?”

 

“Oh Bucky,” Steve went to hug her, she couldn’t not. “I don’t know.” Steve whispered against the side of her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Some people are evil Buck.”

 

Buck’s hands came up to grasp at Steve’s uniform. She held her body stiff and then slowly relaxed it against Steve’s own.

 

“How can God let something so horrible happen?” Her voice was weak with grief.

 

Steve whispered after a moment, “I don’t know.”

 

*

Like Gustav had said, the French find a way. Under the thumb of the Nazis they persisted. Steve trailed behind Gaby through underground markets, bought coffee in cafes with a coded word, got lost in the back roads with Bucky while looking for resistance rendezvous points. Little farms masked safe houses, hollow logs acted as cairns for weapon caches, and inns often doubled as a brothels if you knew where to look. Gaby as it turned out, knew where to look.

*

 

It was Bucky’s birthday and the Howlies were _drunk_ in their effort to put Bucky under the table. The dark haired girl had been kicking them back all night, but Stevie didn’t think she felt much of its effects. She herself was working on her second pint, having waved off Dum Dum’s attempts at drawing her into a drinking contest. ‘won’t work on me,’ she’d quipped, shaking her head. ‘and I don’t much care for the taste.’

 

Bucky it seemed, wasn’t much effected either and wasn’t happy about it, by the way she kept slamming them down.

 

“I think maybe-“ Steve was cut off by Bucky slapping her hand against the table.

 

“Steve it’s my damn birthday,” The other girl laughed wildly through gritted teeth. “Let me have some fun.”

 

“Ya come on Cap,” Jill raised a shot glass and knocked it back. She made an outrageous face as she swallowed. “God that shit’s bad.” She shook her head, “Wha was I sayin?”

 

“You’re gonna drink them to unconsciousness you keep this up,” Steve whispered low by Buck’s ear, strangely hurt by the way the girl flinched. “Come on, I know you ain’t getting any drunker.”

 

Bucky gave her a dark look out the corner of her eye, jaw clenching in that way she had about her. Steve braced herself for a fight but saw the ire leach out of the other girl when Gaby fell off of her stool. Dum Dum roared with laughter, spilling her drink across the bar. Monty had put her cheek against the table a long time ago and was snoring through the ruckus.

 

“Jeez,” Bucky sighed in resignation. “You’re right, they’re a damn mess.”

 

*

They paid for two sets of rooms and dragged the girls upstairs. Jackie and Jill were somewhat coherent; at least able to walk on their own. Dum Dum and Gaby were completely sloshed and Bucky was struggling to get them to go upstairs. Monty, Steve had to fireman carry up to the rooms.

 

By the time they were successful and Bucky and Steve wandered to their ‘no drunks allowed, no vomiting allowed’ adjacent room, Steve was exhausted. She spread out on the bed like a starfish as Bucky moved into the bathroom to run a rare bath. She was dozing with her eyes closed when Buck walked back out.

 

“Aw Steve you’re gonna get the sheets all dirty like that. Go on to the bathroom, I left water in the tub for ya.”

 

Steve sighed against the mattress and moved to get up. “Thanks Buck,” She glanced over and nearly choked. Bucky was down to her last pair of clean underwear, and was thankfully busy laying out her clothes over the back of the settee.

 

“Ya,” The other girl was saying. “I also used the liquid soap in there to try and wash these but I think they’re beyond saving at this point.”

 

“Hmmm uh huh,” Steve tore her eyes away from Bucky’s bent over form and bee lined it to the bathroom. She leaned against the closed door and heaved a sigh. Good goddamn but she would get a grip on this.

 

“You’re welcome!” Bucky yelled from the other room.

 

*

Steve scrubbed herself moderately clean in the tepid bath water. She was half tempted to refill it, but it seemed like a needless waste to do so.

 

The towel was lush and felt heavenly against her skin. As she toed her discarded clothing she felt hard pressed to redress. Her shirt had been worn so often it was crusty with dried sweat and her pants were soiled dark with stains of all kinds. She ended up following Bucky’s lead and scrubbing them as well as she could in one of the sinks with the strange lavish liquid soap.

She also cleaned her underwear because unlike Bucky, she didn’t have another pair to change into. Then she got creative with hanging out her clothing to dry, leaning over the drained tub to open the windows and let a cold breeze sweep through the room.

 

*

 

Buck was in bed reading her poetry book when Steve finally shuffled out of the bathroom in a towel.

 

“I was beginning to think you’d drowned in there,” She said, without looking up.

 

“Har har,” Steve yawned, readjusting the knot. She shuffled towards the bed, fresh exhaustion falling like a net around her. “I did some impromptu clothes washing myself.”

 

Bucky glanced up at that and then away. “Yea? See sometimes I have good ideas Rogers.”

 

“That’s what you think,” Steve grumped good naturedly. She pulled back the covers and crawled under, sighing with contentment as Bucky closed her book and clicked off the light. It was a small bed, and their sides touched. Abruptly Steve was hit with a surge of homesickness that was so sharp she nearly cried out. If she shut her eyes and pretended real hard, they could almost be back in Brooklyn. She could almost strain her ears hard enough to hear a piano. Almost.

 

“What you thinkin about?” Bucky’s voice came soft through the dark.

 

Steve turned her head. “Home.” She whispered. “You?”

 

“Something stupid,” Bucky sighed.

 

Steve smiled, warmed. “So the norm then.”

 

“Oh shut it,” Bucky reached over to slap her shoulder but it was half hearted. Her hand lingered on Steve’s skin and Steve’s heart skipped. “You’re so different,” Bucky’s fingers trailed over her clavicle and _does she know what she’s doing?_ “Different but still the same Stevie.”

 

Buck’s fingers were on the divot of her throat now. She could probably feel Steve’s traitorous pulse thundering. “Of course I’m the same Buck,” She breathed. Bucky pressed her hand to her breastbone and left it there.

 

Steve suddenly realized she was almost panting, and abruptly she couldn’t take it anymore. This had to be something surely, surely it had to be? “Buck-“ She cut herself off and leaned over, desire making her movements jerky.

 

They spent a minute breathing into each other’s mouth, Bucky’s fingers clenched tight in the material of Steve’s towel.

 

“If we’re gonna do this,” Steve whispered hoarsely, barely daring to let herself believe,  “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen again, Buck. I can’t.” her voice broke.

 

Bucky’s fingers tightened before she moved up to cup Steve’s face. “I know, I know,” she soothed, pressing shaky kisses along her brow.

 

They stared at each other. Steve could barely make out the curve of Bucky’s dear face in the dark. The moment stretched between them like a wire being pulled taunt.

 

“I’m in love with you.” Steve blurted, heart in her throat. She just couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

 

Bucky’s breath stopped. “What?”  She dropped her hand abruptly from Steve’s face and sat up to turn on the light. Steve felt suddenly very exposed, like she was under Dr. Erskine’s microscope. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted and somehow the words still poured out of her.

 

“I…” Steve swallowed. “I’m in love with you.” Bucky was watching her with wide eyes. “Buck-“

 

“You love me?” Bucky’s voice wobbled. She looked like she was about to cry.

 

“God Buck, of course I do.” Steve sat up too, ran her hands down the other girl’s arms, to hold her hands. “How could you doubt-Buck, I’ve loved you for years. Since I knew what love was I’ve loved you.” It was like some sort of dam had broken inside of her. Steve bit her lip to stop talking.

 

Buck was still watching her.

 

“Do you…“ Steve started, nervous at the silence.

 

“Of course I love you, you punk,” Bucky laughed tearily. Her face was flushed; she looked happy and alive. Beautiful. Steve wanted to crawl inside her and never come out. “Steve you know you’ve always been my best girl. Come here, come here-“

 

*

 

“Oh God you’re breasts,” Bucky whispered, cupping their generous weight in her hands. “I used to try not to stare when you changed back home. I thought about them all the time though- fuck."

 

Steve flushed hot. “They’re bigger now, I know.”

 

“Lovely,” Bucky breathed, running her thumbs softly over Steve’s nipples. Heat pooled in the pit of Steve’s belly as Bucky leaned forward to press her face between them, her hot mouth moving to lave at a nipple. Steve gritted her teeth to hold back a moan, trying to keep quiet.

 

“Don’t think they care bout that kinda thing in this place,” Bucky voiced hoarsely. Her hips were slowly grinding, spreading wetness along Steve’s thigh. Her voice was breathy when she moved to whisper, “let me hear you sweetheart,” into Steve's ear.

 

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, reaching up to run her hands over round shoulders, silky hair, soft breasts. “Here, come here.”

 

They settled against one another on the bed, kissing. Bucky’s mouth was soft and pliant and so sweet. Their tongues met and curled around each other, warm and wet. Eventually Steve pulled away to look at the high blush on Bucky’s cheeks, her dilated eyes, swollen lips. She had wrapped her arms around Steve’s shoulders; her thighs clenched high around Steve’s waist. Steve could feel how wet she was against her own belly. The points of their breasts were pressed together.

 

“Hey there Buck,” Steve said, brushing Bucky’s hair from her eyes.

 

“Steve,” Bucky nuzzled Steve’s palm. “Hi.”

 

Steve kissed Bucky’s neck, inhaling the smell of lye soap that lingered on Bucky from her earlier bath and let her hands drift hungrily down.

 

*

 

She curled her fingers, moving them in and out through the silky wetness of Bucky’s cunt. Bucky’s mouth hung open on a moan, her pupils blown wide as she panted, “don’t stop, don’t stop.”

 

“That’s it,” Steve sped up, adding a third finger to the slick and moving in to kiss that tempting mouth, rocking the palm of her hand against Bucky’s clit. Bucky’s hips jerked up, fingers raking down Steve’s sides, moving to press between her legs.

 

“You too,” She bit into Steve’s mouth and Steve gasped, spreading her thighs.

 

Afterwards, Steve ran her hands idly through Bucky’s damp hair, marveling at its texture.

 

“Happy birthday to me,” Bucky sang, kissing Steve’s shoulder and grinning up at her.

 

Steve laughed, so full of joy she felt like she could explode. “Happy birthday to you,” She agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to Bucky’s mouth.

 

*

 

Waking up the next morning was a revelation. Steve spent long minutes taking in the soft lines of Bucky’s body, the miles of milky skin on display, the tangle of her dark hair on the pillow. Her hands ached for a pencil and paper, but she contented herself with drinking the other girl in. As the sun peaked through the curtains, Bucky groaned and squinted her eyes open. When she caught Steve watching her, a smile spread across her face.

 

“Hiya,” Steve whispered, enchanted by Bucky’s blush.

 

“Hiya back,” Bucky yawned, rubbing her cheek against her pillow. She giggled.

 

“What?” Steve pressed her mouth to Bucky’s shoulder. The other girl shivered and laughed again.

 

“I’m just so damn happy,” Bucky ran her hand through Steve’s hair, fingers gentle as she untangled knots. “I never thought I’d get to be this happy.”

 

“Me too Buck,” Their mouths met. “Me too.”

 

“I don’t think they’ll be expecting us any time soon and me and my best gal got a lot of time to make up for,” Bucky smirked when they came up for air. They were pressed together, warm skin to warm skin. Steve felt lit up with it as Bucky trailed kisses down, down, down her belly.

 

*

 

“You two look well rested,” Gaby gave them a knowing glance. It was some hours later and Steve and Bucky had just moseyed their way downstairs after a nice hot bath. The commandos were at the bar, drinking burnt coffee and eating bread.

 

Steve blushed and nearly knocked over the stool as she went to sit making Dum Dum and Jill to crack up and slap each other’s shoulders.

 

“Nothing a good night’s rest can’t cure,” Bucky smirked saucily. She reached across Steve to steal Monty’s cup and sipped it, pulling a face at the taste.

 

“A good night’s rest,” Monty said, dry as dirt. She snagged the coffee back. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

 

“Gals please,” Steve put her face in her hands at their laughter. But Bucky’s shoulder was warm against her own and when she looked over the girl was smiling, her eyes soft and content. Steve just couldn’t find it in herself to complain.

*

 

What surprised Steve the most was how little things changed between her and Buck. They still lived in each other’s pockets, still gave each other hell over everything and had each other’s backs even when they were in disagreement. It was still them versus the whole damn world. Only now, Steve could reach out and hook her pinky around Bucky’s when they sat around the fire at night and hold her hand when she could sneak it.

 

In foxholes instead of agonizing over close quarters, things got a little heated when it was just the two of them pressed up against each other. Steve was even more aware of Bucky now – Bucky’s smiles and how Bucky’s skin tasted after a day of work. Bucky’s laughter warm and intimate against her. Bucky’s full hips curved soft under her hands. It was sweet torture watching the other girl and having to wait until they were alone to touch. 

 

But god when they were alone. Steve was sure her command tent smelled of perpetual sex by this point because they were insatiable whenever they were on base. She’d blushed so red the first time Peggy had swung by and given her an arched eyebrow, that the reserved British girl had busted out laughing.

 

And Steve was happy.

*

 

“Treeline secure,” Bucky’s voice was barely a whisper as she came back from recon. “Bout six or seven pacing the perimeter, but not that far out. Definitely within sniping range.”

 

“Think you can take that many?” Gaby raised a brow.

 

“Please,” Bucky rolled her eyes. “In my sleep.”

 

*

 

The long hair under the helmet was unbearable once the weather got hot. One night when they were both on watch, Steve convinced Gaby to give her a French haircut.

 

“Holy hell Stevie,” Bucky said the next day when the two of them were walking behind the rest of the Howlies.

 

“No good?” Steve suspected she was blushing horribly. She’d never thought of herself as pretty, but she feared she’d been too over zealous with the haircut.

 

“Are you kiddin?” Bucky shook her head, eyes raking over her. “You look like one of those foreign pin up gals. Jeez, now I’m really gonna have to be beating them off ya with a stick.” Glancing ahead for a second she reached over and gave Steve’s butt a quick squeeze.

 

“Bucky!” Steve gasped, laughing with relief.

 

“That’s me,” Bucky agreed, with a cheerful wink.

 

*

 

On the fourth of July the girls took Steve out for drinks, as had become their traditional birthday celebration.

 

“Here here!” Dum Dum tapped her glass obnoxiously. “I’d like to make a toast to our very own Captain America, who was fittingly born on the fourth of July! Here’s to inadvertent patriotism!” They all raised their drinks, laughing.

 

“Here’s to Stevie, who always has an extra pair of socks when you need em’,” Jill added.

 

“And who tells you kindly when you smell so you’ll take a bath,” Jackie smiled. Bucky nearly busted a gut hooting at that one. Steve’s cheeks hurt she was grinning so hard.

 

“But who’ll always trade watch times with ya,” Monty clapped her hand against Steve’s shoulder.

 

“To Cap, who takes a lickin and keeps on tickin’,” Gaby winked over the rim of her glass.

 

“To Steve,” Bucky’s eyes were warm as they met her own, “may she always stand up.”

 

*

 

Eventually, Steve lost track of how many bases they tore through. They’d woven their way out of France, through Germany to Austria and the foothills of the Alps. The mountains were breathtaking and made the rest of the world seem far away. Loveliness persisted despite the war.

 

“34,” Bucky supplied. She was rubbing down her rifle with a rag and some oil she’d found somewhere. They had made it back to the field HQ and Steve had been filling out reports for hours on backlog missions.

 

“That many?” Steve was hunched over one such report, the letters blurring in front of her face.

 

“17 weapons facilities, 10 research, 7 labor camps. It’s been a busy summer.” The work camps were the worst. The first time the Howlies liberated one, on that bleak New Years, Steve had spent long minutes afterwards puking behind one of the barracks, the empty eyes of starved children haunting her. This wasn’t war, this was something else. She’d glanced up, shaking against the wall to find Bucky watching her with dark eyes. ‘we gotta go,’ she’d said finally. ‘we gotta keep going.’

 

“Don’t know how you keep track of all of them,” Steve wondered aloud, she rubbed at her eyes.

 

Bucky’s arms went around her shoulders. “Hey,” She nuzzled into Steve’s neck making her shiver. “Why don’t you call it a night hmm? Let me take care of you baby.”

 

Her voice was husky; it was the tone Steve had heard her use on countless fellas all those years ago. Back then it had twisted her up inside with jealousy, now it made her blush and stutter stupid with arousal. It had been 6 months since Bucky’s birthday and she still wanted to drill Bucky through the mattress at any given opportunity. It was obscene and Steve’d be embarrassed if she didn’t want it so damn bad.

 

Steve turned her head for a kiss. “Hmm,” She said as she pulled away, warm with desire, hands falling heavily to Bucky’s hips. “I guess I can be persuaded.”

 

Bucky laughed and pulled her towards the cot.

 

*

 

Schmidt was a slippery fucker. They’d traced him into the Alps, but that was as far as their information went. For months they scoured the area, taking out small time bases, searching.

 

Winter came, colder than anything Steve had felt before. For Chanukah Steve gave Bucky a bar of good chocolate she had traded with Jackie for in exchange for a drawing. For Christmas Bucky had given Steve a small cake she’d made by some secret means she refused to give details about (Steve was sure Peggy was involved). New Years this year was spent huddled under towering aspens, staring up at a foreign moon. The Howlies sang show tunes to each other in the distance; Steve and Bucky danced close under the cover of the trees.

 

“Remember the last time we did this?” Steve swayed, tucking her head against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“You were drunk as a skunk,” Bucky laughed, “You kept falling into the walls. I think you knocked some frames down.”

 

“It was the Murphy brothers who knocked down those frames,” Steve grinned. Bucky’s hands tightened around her waist as she spun them, slow. Snow crunched beneath their feet. Steve relaxed against the warmth of Bucky’s body, letting her lead.

 

“That’s it,” The other girl hummed into her ear in French. “That’s it. It’s 1945 baby, by this time next year the war will be over.  We’ll be home together, you’ll see.”

 

*

 

In late January Bucky got a letter. Steve, who had been tediously filling out a report stood up so fast she knocked over her chair when Bucky dropped her head to her hands and gulped big sobs. In all their years together, she’d only seen Buck really cry twice: once had been the horrible summer when Steve’s ma had died, the other time had been during the winter of 38’ when Bucky had prayed by her bedside in the dark while Steve struggled to make her lungs work.

 

“We weren’t that close,” She wept now, to her palms. “Josh was so much older than me and he always was away but…he was still my brother. God damnit!” She slammed her fist on the table and kept slamming it until Steve heard something crack. She took up the other girl’s hand.

 

“I know Buck,” Steve stopped hovering and wrapped her arms around her. God Joshua, she put her face into Bucky’s shoulder to hide her own tears.

 

“He was gonna be a reporter,” Bucky whispered later, voice heavy with sorrow. Steve had moved them to the bed and was running her hands down Bucky’s back. “He always said he wanted to write for one of the big papers in the city. Wear those nice suits to work every day.”

 

“I know,” Steve whispered.

 

“He was good.” Bucky clenched and unclenched her hands in Steve’s shirt. “He was a good person. It’s not fair.”

 

 _I know_ , Steve held her.

 

*

Death was a strange thing, and it worked through people in strange ways. It took time, but eventually Bucky began to smile again. To laugh and crack jokes of her own across the fire. Steve could see the relief that flooded through the Howlies the first time Bucky pulled a prank after Josh’s death. And Steve herself felt her heart lighten when Bucky winked at her and reached for her hand in the dark.

 

*

“Buck and I will take first watch-“

 

“Aw hell no,” Dum Dum cut in from where she was attempting to start a fire. “You two won’t be watching nothing but each other the way things been going now. Gaby and I will take first watch; you and sarge see if you can’t start a fire cause I’m giving up. This shit is too wet.” She threw the stick down, winked and wandered off towards Gaby.

 

“Such disrespect,” Bucky laughed at the look on Steve’s face. “Well? You heard the woman, go start that fire.”

 

*

 

“Your turn tonight I think,” Jill nodded towards Bucky, who grinned saucily in return. They were all huddled around the fire pit that Steve had painstakingly set up, sleeping rolls unfurled like little pill bugs. Monty and Jill on one side, Jackie on the other. Gaby and Dum Dum were somewhere along the ridgeline keeping watch.

 

“Whaddya want then?” Bucky was fiddling with an unlit cigarette between her fingers.

 

“Some Judy Garland,” Monty said. “But make it happy would ya, Jem?”

 

Steve had taken off her helmet and was running her hands through her cropped hair. Her scalp was itchy with dried sweat. The weather was surprisingly mild for late February and the cool breeze felt blissful against her neck.

 

There was a moment where they all sat listening to the crackle of the fire, and then Bucky started to sing:

 

“Never could carry a tune, never knew where to start. You came along when everything was wrong and put a song in my heart,”

 

“She’s got a voice that’d put the angel’s to shame,” Monty whispered softly, to Steve.

 

“Don’t let her hear that, she’ll never let you live it down.” Steve murmured back, although Monty was right, Buck’s voice was really something. Always had been. She looked up she met Bucky’s soft eyes across the fire and listened to her sing.

 

*

Steve tucked in first for the night, pulling their bedrolls a little ways out into the field like usual. Bucky gave her a knowing glance as she strolled past and it wasn’t five minutes before the other girl joined her.

 

“Budge over,” She said as she leaned down to untie her boots.

 

“Bossy.” Steve held open the blanket for Buck to crawl under. As the other girl settled, Steve leaned over and mouthed at her neck. “Liked hearing you sing tonight.”

 

“Yea?” Bucky shivered. She turned her head and their mouths met wetly. “I was singing for you,” She whispered, breath hot against Steve’s lips.

 

“Mmmhmm,” Steve wiggled down and pulled the cover over her head.

 

“Steve I ain’t even clean down there,” Bucky hissed when she figured out where Steve was going.

 

“Shh,” Steve shouldered her thighs apart. The smell was sharp but it just made her mouth water all the more. Seemed like they had sex any free moment but it was never enough. “Come on sweetheart, just lemme-“ She leaned in.

 

“Oh God,” She heard Bucky yelp and then her hands were in Steve’s hair pulling her close.

 

*

“This could be nothing you know,” Peggy had pulled Steve aside as the meeting dispersed. “We’ve had false information before. But it's the first lead we've had in weeks. ”

 

Steve nodded, jaw clenched. I don’t give a damn, she wanted to say. Any chance I have to wrap my hands around that fucker’s throat- “I know.”

 

Peggy gave her a look like she knew what was running through Steve’s mind. “Alright,” She sighed. “Go tell your girl.”

 

*

“This is a harebrained plan,” Bucky was nearly asleep against her shoulder. Steve could feel the movement of her eyelashes as she blinked slowly. Each little tickle set her heart alight.

 

“Aren’t all my best plans like that?” She whispered. She drifted her hand down Bucky’s bare back, cupping her hip.

 

“Hmmm,” Buck chuckled against her shoulder before yawning. “So you say.”

 

As she gave into sleep, Steve let her mind drift. Would that they never had to move from this spot, that the world could be just the two of them and they could grow old like this; side by side. And when they finally melted away together, even their bones would be the same.

 

*

 

Two days later they made their hump into the unforgiving Alps.

 

*

“Is this payback for Coney island a la 1940? I said I was sorry you puked,” Bucky griped, standing at the edge of the precipice. There was a smile hidden in the corner of her mouth. It took everything in Steve not to lean over and kiss her.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” She replied, all innocence. Bucky slanted her a narrow look before breaking. They shared a conspiring grin.

 

“Incoming,” Jill called down from her post. They readied themselves as the shape of the train cut through the mountainside far below, dark and sinister against the snow.

 

*

 

Within three minutes Steve could admit this hadn’t been the best idea. Trains had close quarters that were unforgiving and watching Bucky stomp down the hall with her finger compressed on the trigger and not being able to assist her was impossible.

 

“Buck,” Steve turned to swing her shield, cutting through the operator who had been about to shoot her. She swung back around and beat frenetically at the door with it. The metal groaned falling open and she was inside the compartment with Bucky.

 

It happened fast: Buck holding Steve’s shield up in front of her, that look of tight desperation on her face as she shot bam- bam- bam – the momentary elation, the yawing horror that raised in Steve like a tide as Bucky was sucked out of the car -

 

“Take my hand! Come on Bucky-” Bucky looked up at her with wide eyes. Her injured arm curled up against her chest, the other wrapped around the guardrail. Steve swallowed, desperation making her voice sharp: “Come on sweetheart you gotta take my hand, just take my hand and I’ll pull you up. Buck you gotta trust me now, I’ve got you-”

 

Slowly, slowly Bucky uncurled her injured arm and reached up, bloody fingers splayed wide. Steve was lying on her belly, half her body hanging out of the car. Wind screaming in her ears, she grasped out. Their fingers brushed. “Come on, come on,” Steve breathed, heart in her throat. She stretched. Almost-

 

The rail gave way.

 

*

 

Later, Steve sat unseeing on Bucky’s threadbare bunk. Her hands hung like foreign slabs of meat in her lap. She felt as if she were a specter floating above her own body, taking in her misery from somewhere far, far away.

 

Perhaps it was only a bad dream, like the reoccurring one’s she’d had as a child of drowning. Any moment she’d open her eyes to morning, warm and safe next to Bucky’s slumbering form in their tiny Brooklyn hovel. The wooden floors of home creaking as they settled and the out of tune piano playing from below. She’d tell Bucky the farfetched story and Bucky would laugh in all the right places, and get up to go to Big House for the day. Steve would make her way to the tailor shop, hoping to find work.

 

 _Yes,_ she thought, blinking heavy and deliberate. Her eyes felt full of gritty sand. _Let me wake from this. Oh God if you’re there, prove it to me now. I’ve never asked you for anything but let this be a dream. Oh God, I promised her she’d be safe and fuck…How could I not keep her safe…How could I…_

 

Eventually, her bleary gaze landed on the book she’d brought Bucky from England. She could remember the glee she had felt upon first discovering it, the way she had run her hands over its spine like it held a secret tucked inside. Now the pages were curled and dirty from the touch of loving hands and the dampness that came from living in the wild. Bucky had spent countless hours reading and rereading the poems after they bedded down for the night.

 

Steve laid the book down carefully across her thighs and it fell open to a page. Somehow Steve knew in her bones that this was the poem Bucky had always turned to first in those quiet moments by the fire. This was the page that made her eyes go distant and soft and settled. Steve ran a shaky hand along the black print, imagining Bucky’s eyes moving over every word. Yes, they’d looked here. Whether in song or in script, words had always been Bucky’s solace. And Bucky had been hers.

 

 _I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens,_ Steve read slowly, breath a bird’s wings in her throat, _only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands._

Steve let go of the book and it fell closed against one knee. She dropped her face into shaking hands and what came out of her then was a sound she did not recognize.

 

Grief, her mother had told her once in her gentle lilting voice. Grief was something much deeper than sadness. It was like a living thing; some rooted weight in the heart curling and all encompassing. It could not be dug or scooped out, it could not be starved into submission. It was the heaviest thing a person could know. And for some, it was impossible to let go of.

 

*

“You were worth it to her Stevie.” Peggy’s hands pressed against the table. It was even later now, days maybe. Steve wasn’t sure. It was a far crueler world. “You have to believe that if nothing else.”

 

 _No,_ Steve thought, staring down into the empty bottle. _I don’t._

“If you don’t,” Peggy whispered, as if Steve had spoken aloud. “Then she died for nothing.”

 

 _She died,_ Steve thought. _That’s enough._

"All I had to do was hold on," She said. "That's all. I couldn't even...I couldn't even do that."

*

 

Steve never heard back from Winifred, but she wasn’t expecting a reply. In the weeks following Bucky’s death, she felt like she was chasing a ghost. Some forgotten ideal of herself, or maybe the idyllic golden past: summers spent running after Bucky down the beach. Following Bucky through dance halls, watching Bucky laugh with their friends. Always behind Bucky fighting to catch up. She found herself thinking, _if I move faster then_ with no notion of how to finish the thought.

 

War was the liquid in her veins. She felt colorless, as if she had become that hollow automaton of human perfection that kind Dr. Erskine had strived, lived and died for. Her nightmares were of a stranger’s face in the mirror. 

 

When it rained against the canvas of her tent at night, she heard the pitter-patter of shrapnel. Her days were spent in the field as mindless as the hundreds of men around her. The other Howlies had stuck around for a while but had eventually been honorably discharged. Gaby had been the last to leave, pale as she watched Steve from across the tent.

 

 _Was this what it was for?_ Steve thought, shoulders burning as she swung her shield, snapping a man’s neck back. _This?_ She rolled and came up snarling, punched the face of another – hard as she could. Grey matter gushed between her knuckles as her fist went through skull. She pivoted and there was another, coming at her with a knife. There was always another.

 

*

 

“You’ve got a letter,” Peggy’s voice was quieter these days, and Steve often saw her looking out across the base as if she were waiting for some reckoning. _What will be left of us at the end?_ Steve wondered during the long nights when she let herself wonder anything.

 

“Thanks Peg,” Steve took the letter, and read the postscript: Brooklyn, New York. Such a strange far away place. She wondered if Peggy still got letters from Angie. She thought about asking but Peggy was already striding briskly across the encampment.

 

Steve had a tired envy for her perseverance. Peggy always seemed to know where she was going while Steve sat witless. Wanting.

 

At the end of the day, she took refuge in the silence of her tent and unfolded the letter.

 

 _I’m the last of us Stevie,_ Rivka’s spidery script read.

_Ma died in her sleep a week ago as of this date. She never said a word after we got the news about Jem, just took to wandering around the house. I knew it was coming. I’m moving to Indiana to live with her sister, Aunt Ida. I don’t suppose I’ll ever come back to New York. It’s too full of ghosts now._ _I know you asked ma for forgiveness and I’m sorry she’s not here to give it to you Stevie, but I forgive you. Please, don’t blame yourself_. _I know that you must have done everything in your power to save her. please, please don’t blame yourself. Ma didn’t, Jem wouldn’t and I don’t either. Jem loved you you know. I know you must have known. I’m sorry I can’t be there to help you stand up again Stevie. I’m sorry._

_I wonder about what earth she’s buried under. I hope she’s on her back facing the sky. She always did love the color blue._

*

“I’ll be okay,” Steve promised, “And when I get back, I’ll let you and Angie take me dancing.”

 

“The Stork Club,” Peggy’s voice was shaky with static and resignation. “I’m making a reservation for eight o’clock so you can’t be late.”

 

“I won’t be,” Steve whispered. “Goodbye Peggy.” She flipped the microphone off and sighed.

 

As she pressed the nose of the plane down towards the icy ocean below she looked out over the horizon. It was a clear day, sky blue as a robin’s egg in the springtime. The sun reflected brightly across the water. Bucky’s voice rang through her mind like a bell, that old song she had so loved to sing:

 

_Le temps passe et court, en battant tristement dans mon cœur lourd, et pourtant j'attendrai ton retour_

_Oh sweetheart,_ Steve closed her eyes. She could see Bucky in her mind’s eye now, limned in light and standing in the doorway of their old home. She turned towards Steve and smiled reaching out with her left hand, fingers pale in the afternoon sun. In the air there was the soft smell of gardenias. _I’m coming Bucky just hold on for me. Hold on for me just a little longer. I’m almost there, just hold on please, please I’m-_

_*_

 

 

_Here when I say, “I never want to be without you”_

_somewhere else I am saying,_

_“I never want to be without you again.”_

_And when I touch you, in each of the places we meet_

_in all the lives we are, it‘s with hands that are dying and resurrected._

_When I don’t touch you, it’s a mistake in any life,_

_in each place and forever._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was a wild ride. hope everyone enjoyed it as much as I did :D
> 
> next chapter will be notes on the story.
> 
> Come follow me on [tumblr](http://kausaustralis.tumblr.com) :D


	4. Chapter 4

Story notes for those interested:

Easter eggs in no random order:  
Howling commandos Gaby is also Bucky’s French roommate Gaby.  
The door B across the hall from Steve was Bucky’s.  
The desk that belonged to a “yank from NY” was Bucky’s.  
The British girl that Mrs Pattenson turns to talk to is Peggy two weeks before Stevie meets her.  
Lois’ last name may or may not be Lane.  
Steve hallucinates the future when she’s dying (tony falling from the ripped wormhole; modern sky scrapers, etc)  
The prosthetic limbs Howard is working on are the prototypes for Bucky’s arm.  
That picture Steve is looking at in the beginning is the picture Bucky gives Steve for Christmas except they erased Bucky from it.

 

The song Bucky sings is a French hit from the 1930s called J'attendrai. Translation as I could find it for the first stanza used: “I will wait, day and night. I will wait forever, you come back - I’ll wait.” 

Then Steve wakes in bed and she hears Bucky sing:  
“the wind brings me distant sounds. Watching my door, I listen in vain. Alas nothing, nothing comes” and the final stanzas that Steve thinks when she’s in the plane: “time passes slowly beating sadly in my heart, so heavy. And yet I’ll wait for your return”  
Apologies for any mistakes in translation or actual French, I relied on lyric listings for this.

The song Bucky sings by the fireside is “Zing! Went the strings of my heart” I imagine her voice is something close to Judy Garland’s. 

 

Major Richard Winters said: “Wars do not make men great, but they do bring out the greatness in good men.” I boggarted that quote

Bucky’s full name is Jacobina Buchanan Barnes in this (hence the nick name Jem / Bucky). Steve’s is Stevie Grace Rogers. In my mind, as the average height of women in the 1940s was 5’2”, I imagine pre-serum Steve around 4’11” and post serum around 5’10” (taller than the average height of MEN in 1940s). Bucky’s height is 5’4”, which was slightly tall for 1940. 

Notes on the bath houses: I embellished on the awesomeness of them but they did exist, and specifically #7: http://brooklynrelics.blogspot.com/2014/02/brooklyn-lyceum-public-bath-no-7.html and, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_Bath_No._7

 

 

Poem fragments at beginning and end are from Bob Hicok’s amazing poem “Other lives and dimensions and finally a love poem” read it, you won’t be disappointed.

The sound of one hand clapping is a zen koan. You can hear the sound of two hands clapping, but what is the sound of one? The sound of one is a soundless sound. It’s the static you hear in your own mind.

 

Bucky Barnes’ Reading List (and by proxy, Steve’s):

The Phantom of the Opera Gaston Leroux  
Anne of Green Gables LM Montgomery  
Synthetic Men from Mars Edgar Rice Burroughs, Argosy Weekly  
Jane Eyre Charlotte Bronte  
Meditations Marcus Aurelius  
“Ozymandias” Percy Shelley

“She walks in beauty” Lord Byron ; the poem Steve couldn’t remember when they spoke in the field

 

Commandos:  
Dum Dum Dugan: same name  
Gabe Jones: Gaby  
Jim Morita: Jill  
Monty: same name  
Jacques: Jackie

 

Looking at:

http://www.tiki-toki.com/timeline/entry/5395/A-Marvel-Cinematic-Universe-Timeline  
I fiddled with the timeline a little needless to say.

 

Timeline for me:

 

1941: story begins  
Feb 1942: they have sex, bucky leaves for training  
Mid/late June 1942: B back for leave  
late June 1942: B ships out  
(7 months worth of shit) January 1943: Steve is serumed  
mid jan – mid april 1943: does USO tours (3 months)  
Mid April - Oct 1943 works on SOE missions  
November 1943, liberates Azzano  
March 1944: they declare LOVE, fucking finally  
March 3, 1945: Bucky falls from the train  
April 3, 1945: Steve puts the plane in the ocean

 

For the history buffs, let’s pretend jedburgh’s dropped in 1943 too.

 

And lastly, Bucky’s favorite poem:

somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which I cannot touch because they are too near 

your slightest look easily will unclose me, though I have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as spring opens (touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose.

Or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;

Nothing, which we are to perceive in this world, equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing

I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens, only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.  
-ee cummings


End file.
